


Journey To You

by bodtlings



Series: Miscalc Verse [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: HELL YEAH WE'RE BACK, HOLY SHIT TITS ITS THE SEQUEL, M/M, i hope it turns out good and yall like it, ill put tags in here as i think of them so for right now its just me ranting, oh man im so excited for this, welcome back guys!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:55:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1541693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodtlings/pseuds/bodtlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to the fic Miscalculations.</p><p>A key and a letter were all Eren were given upon waking up from a coma. What he was supposed to do with them he hadn't the faintest idea, but he trusted that Levi knew he would find his way to wherever he needed to be with them. Now, if only he could find where he should even begin...</p><p>A meeting, a confrontation, and an ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thanks for (Almost) Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> (( muffled "Guess who's back back, back again" playing in the background ))
> 
> AW HELL YEAH WE'RE BACK, WE'RE DOIN THIS. It's happening folks. The sequel. Holy shit.
> 
> I'm so excited ARE YOU EXCITED GET EXCITED. I'm so happy to be writing in the miscalc verse again it feels like its been forever. I hope you guys enjoy this, and as always please feel absolutely free to find me on tumblr (bootyscoutinglegion), add me on twitter/snapchat (corporalshortie/squishems), or post here with any questions/commentary! 
> 
> Welcome back gang, here we go <3

[ Eren ]

There are just some things you get so attached to that the minute they're gone, it's like a chunk of you has left. Whatever it was, an object, a time, a person, took a piece of you with them on their way away from you and it's unsettling, to say the least. It's uncomfortable, knowing something is missing. It's not where it's supposed to be, or where you want it, and that fact alone could be more bothersome, more dismaying than originally anticipating. Of course, the levels of discomfort vary with the importance of the object lost, but if it's a person, the discomfort skyrockets to a feeling of almost physical loss, an emptiness in the pit of your stomach, borderline depression. When a person you love, who you hold above all else and who you cherish more than life itself, leaves, the feeling of loss is insurmountable and indescribable. 

That hole in my stomach has not made any signs of closing since my waking up from my coma. 

Discharging from the hospital led to therapy. Therapy led to time wasted. Time wasted meant less time looking for Levi. Less time looking for Levi only meant delayed reunion, and delayed reunion meant delayed knowledge of Levi's whereabouts. Everything was taking way too long and there was honestly nothing more I wanted than to know, at the very least, that Levi was okay. It would've set my mind at ease, but as the circumstances have played out, obtaining such information was next to, if not already, impossible. With nothing to go on, I was standing in a wasteland with no compass, no map, and absolutely zero direction. 

Therapy had gone quicker than expected, and that was one of the very few blessings I received. My therapist said I was healing and responding much better and quicker than originally assumed, which I furiously thanked my body for. Some days, after my sessions were over and I had time (which was almost everyday, considering I didn't have a job or school to attend), I'd visit my old professors from before the accident and inform them that I was okay. Most of them were relieved and gave me updates about the school, what was going on, who was doing what from my graduating class and where everyone wound up being after graduating. It was nice hearing that Connie and Sasha wound up traveling the world. It was nice hearing that Krista and Ymir landed jobs in the marketing department of a major fashion magazine. Reiner opened his own deli (which Bertl frequently ran when he wasn't managing the music store down the block) and it made me laugh; thinking about Reiner's beefcake body in an apron making sandwiches was amusing, but he was making money off of it, so good for him. 

Waking up two years later comes with a lot of surprises, one of them being Mikasa actually started dating Annie a year ago. They had an apartment together a little ways away from Shinganshina U that was decent in size and well furnished. Armin and Jean stayed together the whole time since, which relieved some weight off my shoulders; he wasn't alone, Mikasa wasn't alone, and the fact that they both had someone to lean on besides each other was comforting to know. 

I stayed with Mikasa and Annie for a little while, crashing in their closet-sized guest room. It was sort of overwhelming at first because Mikasa couldn't get used to the fact that I was alive and walking around, but eventually she calmed her obsessive clinging to me for every little thing. Annie got a little jealous sometimes, like when Mikasa would cuddle into my side on the couch if we were watching TV or had a movie on, but that passed after a week and Mikasa gradually gravitated towards her instead. 

Seeing everyone happy was nice. It was consoling and reassuring and it was nice.

But I sort of hated it. Just a little.

I was glad Mikasa had Annie and Armin had Jean. I was glad everyone had graduated together and moved onto great things. I was glad everyone was doing well (to my knowledge), but I was jealous. I didn't have Levi. I didn't have his arms to return to after a hard day of school or long shifts at work. I didn't get to hear Levi's snappy remarks about how he couldn't talk to me right when he wakes up because he needs his coffee before anything else. There were no dances at four AM. Everything that I was used to, everything that I remember having that I felt like I had just a week before, even though it was two years, was gone. I had my best friend and my sister, but I didn't have my other half, and that left a bigger hole in me than the bullet had in my head when I was shot. 

At night, when the soft hum of the TV and hushed voices could be heard from the living room, I would cross my arms behind my head, lay on the twin bed they'd given me, and just stare at the ceiling. I tried to keep my head clear, if even for a minute, to try and think of nothing, but it never worked. Everything I thought of drifted back to Levi and what could've happened to him, where he could be, what he was doing or who he was with. I tried counting sheep, I played solitaire until I was bored to tears, I tried everything. So, when all else failed, I gave in. I laid back, stared at the ceiling, and just gave in. The key Marie had given me was always on my body, at all times. If it wasn't hanging from my neck on a black leather chord, it was resting in my pocket. If it wasn't in my pocket, it was in my hands, twirling in between my fingers. I studied every detail of that key so much that I saw it in my sleep. I noticed the small grooves of the design in the metal, the fingerprints I left in between holding it, the very slight light blue color it'd get when the light shone on it at a certain angle. It was a beautiful key, but it tormented me. I didn't know what it led to. I didn't know where it fit, what it unlocked. It drove me mad. It was a useless piece of metal, as far as I was concerned, and until I found out what secrets it would reveal, it was pointless.

With patience comes the means to an end much needed.

But patience is not something I have ever, or probably will ever, acquire.

I started becoming antsy. I'd pace back and forth in my little room for what felt like days. I'd go for long walks without giving Mikasa or Annie any notice of how long I'd be out or where I was going. I knew they were worried, judging by the steadily deepening crease in Mikasa's forehead whenever I wouldn't be able to sit still and by the excessive staring from Annie; she wasn't one to express too much at one time, but the subtle changes in her expression, like the tightening of her lips and the crinkling of the corner of her eyes, were enough to let me know. I felt bad for worrying them, but not bad enough to stop my constant motion, not that I could help it. Most of the time I did it subconsciously, but sometimes I just needed to keep my hands moving, to keep my legs moving. After about a week or two of such behavior, Mikasa sat me down and suggested I look into a part time job. Two years later, two years older, and still acting like my mother. It was nostalgic, how she treated me with care like she always used to, and instead of arguing like I wanted to, I promised I'd look into it.

The suggestion reminded me of the flower shop and how I had neglected to inform Mike I was alive and kicking, so on a drizzly Wednesday afternoon, I took a trip on over. The outside of the shop looked exactly the same, with the exception of minor discoloring on the sign. A bell chimed as I walked in and when I was near the counter, a familiar brown mop of hair poked out from behind the door. I smiled, but Mike just stood there with his head jutting out from the doorway, sniffing the air.

"You smell familiar, but you don't look familiar. Can I help you with anything today?" 

I rolled my eyes and managed a laugh. "You haven't changed one bit, unbelievable."

"Uh," he paused, sniffing again, and his head tilted to the side in confusion. "Do I know you from somewhere or do you just know I sniff a lot of things?"

I laughed and crossed my arms, leaning on the counter by the register. "Mike it's me, Eren. I used to work for you two years ago?"

Mike parted his bangs from his face, eyes wide and dubious. "Eren? As in snot-nosed kid Eren Jaeger? As in  _the_ bane of my existence Eren Jaeger? What the fuck kid, you're supposed to be in dreamland." Allowing the rest of his body to emerge from the doorway, I smiled at seeing he looked exactly the same, save for the few threads of gray hair darting across his shaggy head. Same toned body, same groomed mustache, same damn snout sniffing everywhere. I couldn't count on everything else to stay the way it was as I remember it over the two years I was absent, but Mike? Mike was a constant. When Mike is like 95 years old, he'll  _still_ be managing the shop,  _still_ be wearing that goddamn mustache and  _still_  be sniffing people like they were flowers themselves. He was a majestic and rare creature, but he was a constant, and that was always reliable. 

Rolling my eyes, I nodded and shook my head. "I was not a snot-nosed kid, and as far as I know, you're still a  _nosy_ old man."

"Haha puns, I get it." Mike came around to sit at the chair behind the counter, leaning his elbow on the desk and holding his chin in his palm. "So, spill the beans. Where did you find this miracle that granted you consciousness?"

"Couldn't tell you even if I knew."

Mike grunted and shook his head. "Shame. Well how about you tell me why you dropped in? Surely you didn't come  _just_ to see my handsome face, although that is a good reason by itself."

I stood up straight, opting to grip the edge of the counter instead of leaning 70% of my weight on it. "While I do enjoy seeing your mug again, I actually came to ask if you needed any help. Being in a coma isn't exactly a well-paying occupation."

"I can imagine." Mike stood from the chair and walked back into his office, returning moments later with a black shirt, khakis, and an apron. "Remember these?"

I sighed, noticing my old uniform and it's lack of any improvement. "Still the same shitty clothing you give your employees."

"Hey, be nice to these clothes, they make us united. United we stand, divided we fall, and our flowers die. Don't let the flowers die."

"Have I ever?" I took the outfit from him and smiled, holding my hand out. "Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate this."

He shrugged and shook his head so his bangs were back in his face, taking my hand and shaking with a firm grip. "Don't mention it. Besides, it's only me working here, and running the shop by myself is a royal pain in my nice butt. I haven't had time to train anyone, so hiring someone who already knows the ropes is probably the best thing that's happened since you left." I nodded my head in agreement and mentally pumped my fists. Hearing that I was useful, that I could be of any help to Mike, made my mood skyrocket. I hadn't been able to help Mikasa or Annie with anything besides cleaning the apartment, so having a job that I was used to, that I knew so well, and that didn't even feel like work to me was immensely relieving, exciting, and encouraging. 

We spoke for a little bit longer, just catching up on things, until Mike had to leave for some reason or another. He gave me my own key to the place, and on his way out said, "Lock up when you're done. Same hours, whenever you want. I'll bump up your pay by, say, two dollars from before?"

I saluted as he made his way toward the door and replied, "Sounds good to me, thank you."

"Don't mention it. And Eren?"

I turned around so I was looking back at him, seeing a smile and a nod of his head. "Welcome back, kiddo."

"Glad to be back, old man." Mike scoffed and left, picking a pink carnation out of one of the carnation vases, and let the door shut behind him. 

Because Mike was a constant, everything  _about_  Mike was also a constant, including his belongings, where he kept them, and how he kept them. All the remotes, all the supplies, everything was in the exact spot they were in when I worked there before, which helped to a great extent. I found the remote for the radio in the same drawer it's always been in, turned up the volume just a bit, and made way to the storage room to grab some cleaning supplies. Since it was right around dinner time, customers were few and far between for the next hour or so, which made the perfect time for cleaning and making sure everything was in order for the after-dinner rush. I danced with the Swiffer around the shop, picking up fallen flower petals and sweeping up dirt that spilled out of pots. I sang into the end of the broom while sweeping the front of the shop, I made arrangements to be picked up later in the day; it felt more than good to be back in the swing of things and I was more than happy to be doing everything again. Being productive was always good, but this was a bonus.

Once I was finished with cleaning up, I took a seat behind the counter and leaned my head over the back of the chair. A nap sounded great, but I knew there was still some more work that needed to be done, so I opened my eyes and made to get up when I saw my old work station.

The swivel chair squeaked as I moved to get up and walked over to the station adorned with all my old supplies. Everything was the way I had left it on my last day, obviously having been cleaned since then, but nothing was moved much. A picture was taped to the top ledge of the desk and I looked away, not really noticing it, but a flash of red caught my attention and I looked back. It was a picture of me and Levi, with Levi holding a red tulip. 

The same red tulip I had given him when I first told him I loved him.

I moved closer, allowing myself to see the picture up close, but torturing myself with a permanent moment captured of Levi. It was from that night I confessed and we caught a movie. I remember he didn't let go of that tulip the entire night. I smiled at the memory, but looking at the picture just made my chest feel tight and my knees weak. My hand reached up and peeled the picture from the ledge, folding it together to stick in my pocket.

A key, a letter, and now a photo were all I had that Levi left behind. 

I forcefully shoved any thought of Levi and things related to Levi out of my head to focus on my work, even though I didn't have much left to do at that point. I busied myself with cleaning, organizing orders, and restocking the paper used to wrap bouquets. The after-dinner crowd came and went. All the orders were picked up, last minute customers came in to buy a bunch of flowers before the shop closed, and before I knew it, the day was through. After everything was set for closing, I turned the light off and went to leave, but thought better of going empty-handed.

I grabbed a red tulip on the way out and locked the door behind me.


	2. Safety Nets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small promises are comforting. Small surprises are even better. Other surprises...not so much (at first).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such a hard time writing this chapter jfc I'm so sorry. If y'all catch any mistakes or anything please let me know so I can fix it !!
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr (bootyscoutinglegion), on twitter (corporalshortie), on snapchat (squishems) and I'm on Line now, for those of you who wanna chat! (danosaurr). Please feel free to come say hey, I don't bite (hard) and if you want to, drop a comment or a question! 
> 
> Oh also I don't think anyone will post in it like ever (just look at the miscalc tag) but I track **fic: journey to you** and the miscalc tags **fic: miscalculations / fic: miscalc** for anyone who wants to show me anything or post in there.

[ Eren ]

Routines are easy. Routines are a promise, a guarantee, but most of all, routines are comfort. A set schedule, a timed set of tasks to do in some order or another, a list of things to tick off one by one. They are automatic and expected and certain. Breaking a schedule is breaking tradition and with that comes chaos. Once everything is set in motion and timed to the minute, the risk climbs for potential mishaps. No one likes chaos and no one likes to break tradition. So the routines are kept.

Wake up at 8. Shower for twenty minutes. Comb what I can of my hair, brush my teeth, shrug on the uniform Mike gave me. Drag my feet to the car and start the engine once I'm in. Sit for a few minutes because I'm not fully awake. Drive to work. This becomes my morning routine.

Sweep the floors. Rearrange the flowers. Clean up the desks and fix up the arrangement station. Boot up the computer and load the schedule and orders for the day. Turn up the radio. Get to work on the arrangements. Help all the customers. Such is my afternoon routine.

Sweep the floors. Clean up the leaves and fallen petals from the arrangement station. Take out the trash. Shut down the computer. Do a once-over and make sure everything is good. Lock up. Drive home. Shuck the uniform in favor of pjs. Eat a quick bowl of cereal or a granola bar, or whatever's handy and edible. Crash until I wake up and do the whole thing over again. This evolves into my evening routine.

And I liked it. I liked the promise of waking up the next morning because that wasn't promised before. I liked knowing what I had to do, what I was expected to do, and I liked knowing it wouldn't change. My routines are my safety nets. A promise for tomorrow.

It sort of reminds me of school; of the set time frame for each class, each day at same time with the same teachers and same classmates. It's a plan, and as long as I follow the plan, there's nowhere I can go wrong.

Small surprises and added events outside my routines were welcomed. Mikasa taking me out to dinner on a random Tuesday night was a nice change to my routine. Instead of going home right away after work, we sat in a booth in the back of a diner in town talking about everything over omelets and hash browns and scoops of chocolate ice cream to share. Instead of working through my lunch break like I usually do, Mike bought us sandwiches from the deli next door that we ate together on a Thursday afternoon. Instead of letting me sit by myself and agonize over every personal issue he knew I was having, Armin took me to museums and movie theaters when I was off from work. They're not the biggest changes to my schedules, but they were enough to keep me floating, to help me along. Watching the same movie three times with Armin and having a popcorn fight in the theater by ourselves kept me going. Making Mikasa laugh because I put straws in my mouth to resemble a walrus made me smile. They were my saving grace. They didn't coddle me and they didn't cling to me, but they made sure I was getting by. Each of them had a hold on my arm and helped me stay above the surface when I felt like I was drowning. The small changes in my routine that they were responsible for were more than just a few hours in front of a big screen or a few hours sitting on cheap, ripped, plastic booth seats with soggy french fries and milkshakes.They were small things, yes, but they were big to me I thanked them every day for it.

Most of my days I spent with Armin and Mikasa, but the days that they had plans were the ones I didn't look forward to. I had 24 hours to myself. 24 hours to occupy myself with things I didn't care about and thoughts I had no desire to ponder over. Those days were the worst - I was left to my own devices, and being left to my own devices left me clueless. I didn't have a schedule for when I was by myself. I didn't have a routine or a plan. I had nothing. And sometimes, realizing that I had nothing left me feeling empty and a little more than useless.

It's not that I had  _nothing_ , because that is an entirely inaccurate word to use. I had quite a lot, for a guy just coming out of a coma. I had my sister, I had my best friend, I had a good job with a great boss and I had a _life_. I was living, I was breathing, I was alive. My body was functioning, I was healthy, I had my safety nets and really, that's more than some people have altogether. 

I guess it's because I'm more of a pessimist than anything that I tend to focus on what I don't have and what I lost rather than what I do have and what I've gained. Trying to focus on a task at hand is difficult when you keep seeing a set of silver blue eyes in the back of your mind. Doing your best to distract yourself from the memory of a warm chest on your back with matching warm arms encircling you and holding you tight is fucking impossible. Feeling that hole grow and grow because those arms aren't there to make you feel secure anymore is devastating. I wasn't entirely dependent on him, but not being with Levi was a slow torture and most of the time, especially on days I spent alone, I reflected on his absence instead of the good memories. It was easier to feel the current pain than the past happiness, but it doesn't mean I didn't try to move past it.

Not every day spent in solitude was a nightmare; I did have good days by myself here and there. When it was nice out, I'd drag out my old bike that Mikasa kept in the tiny storage room behind her apartment and ride it to the park. I'd find a bench or bring a blanket and lay in the field of the park to eat a sandwich. Park days were the best, especially when there was nothing but clear skies; kids were in school during the day, parents were at work, so the entire vicinity was silent. It was peaceful, lying there staring up at a vast cloudless sky. It gave me hope in a way that only lying by yourself in a field during the day could give you -- temporary peace of mind, a calm heart, and a clear head. They were 3 things I rarely had, but when they presented themselves, they were welcomed.

I was sort of bouncing between emotions and it was getting exhausting. Some days I was relaxed and feeling okay, others I was easily irritated and moody. I would either be ready to help all the customers at the flower shop and get ready to tackle the day's tasks, or I would be dreading going in and doing only what was required of me. Sometimes there was an in-between day, where I wouldn't feel much of anything and just go about the motions with no opinion, no feeling. I was almost numb. But numbness can be appreciated; when there's so much going on and when you're feeling a million different things at the same time, it's like a break from all the insanity. It's a rare moment to chill the fuck out and just exist. No thinking, no giving in, just going about my day as I normally do. Needless to say those days weren't completely unwanted.

Of course, nothing is ever easy, and on a Monday morning with the day to spend at my leisure, I found myself driving. I was completely apathetic from the time I woke up, to when I was eating breakfast, to when I was at the corner store buying a Red Bull to help me wake up. I was dazed leaving the parking lot and I was indifferent to my surroundings as I drove with no direction in mind.

The only thing that snapped me out of me robotic cruising was where I ended up. 

And that just so happened to be in front of Levi's apartment complex. 

Well, his old one.

I was on autopilot and wound up at one of my favorite places. I was elated and relieved to see it. I was upset and homesick staring at the apartment window on the fourth floor that I knew was his. As much as I wanted to bolt out of the car and run up the stairs to see if he was home (which I knew there was a slim-to-none chance of), I stayed in my car, debating with myself. I didn't have a key, so how was I supposed to get in? Would another one of Erwin's goons be manning the security desk and the door? But Levi fled, he's not here anymore, so what reason would they need to be stationed there? Surely Erwin knew Levi wouldn't be back any time soon. But what about getting in - I didn't have a key to his front door, so would I just...go up the stairs and stare at it? That wasn't exactly a bright idea nor would it help me with anything. If I wanted to stare at a door I could stare at Mikasa's. But this was Levi's door...

I shook my head, disappointed in myself over the fact that I was actually willing to go up four flights of fucking stairs to gaze at and stand in front of a door. 

But did I? Yes. Because I'm an idiot. An idiot with nothing better to do and too much free time on his hands for the rest of the day.

I parked my car a block away and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans, taking my time walking to the lobby of the building. A new doorman was outside the front and actually smiled as he held the door open for me, like he had the highest of privileges to let me into his building. I nodded once in thanks and in turn he tipped his hat. The security guard, a rounded dark-skinned fellow shoving jelly donuts into his mouth, didn't notice my entry so I was able to sneak right into the elevator as it was closing and went undetected. 

The motions of heading up were automatic. Hitting the fourth floor button, riding the few minutes up, walking down the hallway and making two turns before stopping at his front door. Room 413.  _Levi_   was still in the name slot under the peephole in the door and just seeing his name made my stomach turn. I reached for the knob, ignoring my shaking hand, and turned -

"Hey, kid."

Immediately I jumped and turned around to face the person who called out to me. She was a tiny woman. Curly black hair, thin build; she was petite with no striking features, but she was attractive. She had her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, and it reminded me so much of Levi that it took me longer to reply, which made me look a tad suspicious.

"You're Levi's brother, right?"

Brother? She literally called me Levi's brother. Caught off guard by being called his family member rather than a lover, I stared at her, too stunned to reply. I was about to correct her, tell her that no, I was his boyfriend, but caught myself before I could. What if she was sort of weirded out by gay people? What if she took it terribly? If I said I was a relative of Levi's, would she let me in the apartment? I went with being his brother, just to see if I would be granted access.

"Uh, yeah! Yeah, I'm his brother. Have you, uh, seen him lately? I've been texting him and he hasn't been answering, so I came by to check on him and I don't think he's home." Total, complete, 100% bullshit, but if it got me inside, then what the hell. 

She bought it.

The woman visibly deflated, disappointed. "I thought so. I haven't seen him in weeks and I thought maybe you would've known, since you always used to come by here. You got big." She smiled and ran a hand through her curls, shaking her head. "If you see him, tell him Lisa is looking for him, yeah?"

"Sure thing." She went to turn around and leave but I popped a question I didn't even want to ask, nor did I have time to think about before asking it. "Are you his girlfriend or something?"

Her laugh was so fucking loud they could hear her in the next country. Her shoulders shook at the accusation and she almost doubled over, clutching her sides and shaking her head at the incredulity of my question. "Kid," she said in between giggle fits, "no one in their right mind would date that guy. Have you met him? Or are we talking about a different Levi here?" Whatever nerves had me shaking like a leaf before were gone now that they were replaced with mild annoyance. I wasn't fuming, but it was enough to make me sound more forceful when replying.

"I guess not. But then again, who would want to date a hyena like you?"  _There you go, Eren fucking Jaeger. Good job. You've done it again. Fucking things up, as per the usual._

Instead of being reprimanded or scolded, she laughed again and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms and ankles. "Yeah, you're definitely his brother. Same mouth. He called me that the first time I met him and I almost punched him across his stupid smug face."

My eyebrows shot up, both from using the same name on her as Levi did and the reaction she gave me for using it. She didn't seem the slightest bit mad at my attitude, nor did she seem to dislike me, which were both good signs in my book. 

She tilted her head to the side and stood up, fishing through her pockets for something. "What's your name, kid?"

"Eren. I'm Eren."

"Well Eren, it's nice to meet you. I'm Lisa. Ah!" She found what she was looking for in her pocket and retrieved it, giving it a once over before holding it out to me. 

Another key.

"Here. It's a spare to his apartment. I was wondering when you'd show up so I could give it to you, and now seems like a good a time as any."

She was freely giving me a key to Levi's apartment. She barely even knew me and she was granting me actual access to his apartment. 

I looked down at it and took it from her. I turned it over in my hands, committing to memory the grooves and etches in the silver metal just like I memorized the other key Marie had given me at the hospital. I looked from the key to her and said, "You're okay with giving me this key? Why do you even have a spare, I thought you said you weren't his girlfriend or anything?"

"Oh, sweetie." Lisa uncrossed her arms and ankles and turned to walk down the hallway, her back to me as she went. "I own this damn building, I do what I want. Don't trash the place and you're good." She was halfway down the hall when she stopped and turned back around. "I've seen you around here enough to know you're not trouble. Besides, the look on Levi's face after you leave is more than enough proof to know that he cares about you a lot. I never see anyone ever come into his apartment except you. He's one of the best tenants here; definitely the quietest and definitely the cleanest." She smiled and turned around to keep walking, waving over her head. "He paid his rent for the next 8 months, so if you wanna room there you're welcome to. See you 'round kid, be good."

Lisa made a right at the corner of the hallway and once again I was by myself. I turned my attention back to the key, feeling momentarily grateful that she believed I was Levi's brother and that she was trusting enough to give me a key. My thumb ran over the carvings again before I looked to the doorknob and slid the key in. I ran Lisa's words over in my head again. I took a deep breath, bracing myself before I went in, and smiled at the thought of Levi coming back upstairs after driving me back to my old dorm room in the elevator, walking down the hall, and standing at his front door with a smile on his face. I closed my eyes and turned the key in the lock, hearing the bolt move back. The knob turned and the door squeaked open.

I opened my eyes and saw what I could of the inside of Levi's apartment for the first time in years.

Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, grainy and not providing enough luminescence to see the entirety of the entryway. I took a step forward, hesitating and not wanting to disturb the peace and quiet that was the apartment. I closed and locked the door behind me after taking off my shoes and felt the wall for the light switch that I knew was somewhere nearby. Once my finger hit the white plastic, I flicked it up and immediately warm light filled the living room.

It was a little shocking to see Levi's apartment in a thin layer of dust. It wasn't massively coated, but it was enough for me to chuckle; I'd never seen so much as a cup out of place or a book on his coffee table that wasn't straight. He wasn't completely OCD, he was just really neat and clean. But seeing it unkempt like that, with no one to take care of it, made a pang of sadness hit my stomach. So I did the only thing Levi would've wanted me to do, and the only thing I  _wanted_ to do before I did anything else.

I cleaned. Oh my god did I clean.

Even though the apartment was in need of a serious scrubbing, everything was in the same place as always, so finding the cleaning supplies was easier than I thought it would be. Bleach, Windex, and every other cleaning product under the sun was in a neat white bin under the sink accompanied with various sponges, towels, rags, and dusters. You would've thought Levi was running a cleaning supply store with the amount of stock he had. I emptied out the entire bottom of the sink to see what I had to work with (which was way too much, truthfully) and was about to get ready to go when I remembered Levi's protocol - change, wrap, get to work. I looked down at the clothes I was in, just a plain red shirt, grey plaid flannel and dark washed blue jeans, and decided that no, I would not be cleaning in them unless I wanted them dirty and ruined. I didn't bring a change of clothes with me and I would've if I knew I was going there. But that is what's so great about having clothes already stashed at your boyfriend's place.

Putting the cleaning on hold while I went to go see what clothes were kept in Levi's dresser, I stepped across the apartment to his bedroom, trying not to kick up dust everywhere as I walked over. I turned the lamp on and after it flickered for a minute, I looked around the room, trying to ignore the closing of my throat or the sting in my eyes. Everything was pretty much the same - how he put his pillows on the bed, the comforter, his dresser, the TV on the wall, his night tables, even his bathroom. It was nice, knowing not much has changed, but it hurt. It felt wrong to be in his space without him. It came with him, it was a piece of him, and to have the piece without the main body was unsettling, for me, anyway. No Levi aside, it was nice being in there again. 

The top right drawer in the dresser under the TV was my drawer; we designated that drawer to hold my clothes, my books, my spare toothbrush for when I wanted to change the one in his bathroom. Levi always yelled at me because I threw my clothes inside it, rather than folding it and making it neat like the rest of his things. I'd stick my tongue out at him and he'd roll his eyes, but leave it be. Standing in front of it, I smiled at the memory of Levi reprimanding me for not being neat enough and opened the drawer to see my clothes exactly how I'd left them. Each article of clothing was in complete disarray with no order whatsoever, and in my ear I could just  _hear_ Levi saying, "Don't smile at that, nothing is funny about being untidy. Fix it." I pulled out a pajama shirt and a pair of shorts before folding everything inside and putting it in it's rightful place. 

Once I'd changed into shitty clothing, I followed the second rule of Levi's Cleaning Protocol: wrap. No, not a dick, my head (also not my dick. Like, my actual head. The one my neck holds up.) In the white bin containing every cleaning supply known to man, there were four crisp white bandannas. One was to wrap around your hair to hold it back, and the other was to cover your mouth like a mask to repel harmful, and sometimes toxic fumes. We each had a set. Just a few cleaning bandannas. Not typically a thing a couple would wear together, but knowing Levi and his passion for cleanliness, it was cute in it's own way.

Last rule of protocol was to get to work, and so get to work I did.

First order of business were the curtains; rather than opening them and getting dust absolutely everywhere in the air, I dusted those first before moving them aside to let more sunlight in. The windows were Windex-ed and sparkling and I opened them to allow air to filter in. Next came the counter tops, table tops, coffee tables, night stands, any sort of table with an available surface. After those were completely wiped down, I tackled the carpet throughout the floor along with the tile in the bathrooms and the tile in the kitchen (which I actually got on my hands and knees to scrub to perfection). The lamps were dusted, the glassware was washed, the comforter was aired out the small balcony outside of Levi's room and new sheets were put on the bed while the other ones were in the washing machine. After a few hours of thoroughly scrubbing and disinfecting and wiping down, Levi's apartment was immaculate. Not a single dust mote could be found, nor was there a single speck of dirt to be seen. The only area that was last to be wiped was the mantel over the fireplace, so with a dust rag and some Pine Sol, I hauled my ass into the living room to clean it off.

Levi didn't have family. Levi barely had any friends. In retrospect. all Levi had was me; I was his person, his confider and support system. We were best friends and lovers all the same. No pictures littered every table. No picture frames cluttered the coffee table. There was only one picture, framed and in the center of the shelf, and that picture was of me and Levi. It stood right in the middle of the mantel on top of the fireplace, just as it always had, and next to it was the happy jar I had given him for Christmas two years ago. Our first Christmas together. Surprisingly, there were a number of folded pieces of paper inside, and I told myself that after I cleaned off the shelf I'd read the notes. 

Once the mantel was rid of every bit of dust, I neatly put the cleaning supplies back in the white bin along with my bandannas. Everything was tidy, in it's proper home, and I was able to take a breather. I stripped of my cleaning clothes and threw them in the hamper in the small closed off laundry room before going back to Levi's room and retrieving the clothes I had worn earlier. Carefully, I picked up the happy jar and carried it over to the couch, where I'd firmly planted myself (strictly for relaxation purposes). From what I could tell, there were 20, maybe 30-something pieces of paper perfectly folded into white squares. I folded my legs beneath my bum and reached in with shaky fingers to pull out the first piece of paper.

In his neat script, the first note read,

_February 27th, 2014_

_Changed the windshield wipers on my car. Cleaned the whole fucking car like a mad maniac, but at least now it's done._

It was a small feat, but I did tell him that if something ever happened that made him the tiniest bit happy and satisfied that he should put it in the jar, so it qualified.

The next one said,

_January 3rd, 2015_

_Armin came by. He was one of the last people I expected, and it hurt a little, but it was good to see him, I guess. He said he was still "infuriated at my reckless behavior", but because I mattered so much to you, he was willing to look past it in order for me to be happy. Doesn't mean forgiveness, but it's a step. I'm finally allowed to see you after being away from the hospital._

I had to reread it a few times to understand it, but it finally clicked: Armin didn't let Levi near me for what seems to be a little while. Knowing the two of them, I'm sure Mikasa was a big part of it, and even though I was a little angry that they kept him from me, I respected their decision. I could understand it - their little brother, their best friend, was shot and put in a coma because of Levi's past catching up to him. I would be angry too, livid even, if something like that happened to either of them, Levi included. It wasn't hard to see where they were coming from, even if it did annoy me a little. But I was in a coma so, it didn't matter much in the end. 

My fingers grabbed another note.

_April 8th, 2014_

_It finally stopped raining after two weeks of torrential downpours. Packed a sandwich and sat in the park for a little bit. I actually ran into your boss from the flower shop, and even though he's a fuck ton of weird, sniffing everything, he wasn't a bad guy. Easy to talk to, got right to the point of conversation. Maybe I'll make some sort of godforsaken effort and make a friend._

_Thanks for stopping the rain._

This was a good note. This was a good sign of Levi being a little happy. Reading this note made me smile, because not only was he maybe friends with Mike, but he was happy to make a friend, even if he was a little hesitant and reluctant. It was an effort, and a beautiful effort it was.

The next note made my heart sink.

_December 25, 2014_

_Merry Christmas and happy birthday me. What did I get myself? I got myself a bottle of tequila, a tie that's the closest color to your eyes as I could get, and tulips. I bought two dozen tulips. One bouquet for you, one for the apartment. I put them on the mantel next to our picture and the jar, just because that's where it looked the best. Merry Christmas, wherever you are._

My fingers traced over the ink on the paper, feeling the dents where he pressed too hard with the top of the pen and where the ink blotted a little. There was a drop of liquid that smudged the word tulips, and I couldn't tell if it was a teardrop or a bit of tequila that got away.

I shook the jar, randomizing the notes, and the one I picked would be the last one I opened. It wasn't Levi's note and it wasn't my note.

It was my mother's note. The only one she ever put in the jar when I was younger.

_Eren -- I don't have a jar of my own, so I'm putting this in yours. You want to know the good thing that happened to me today? I got to spend all day with you. You laughed when I got flour on my nose from baking cupcakes and you laughed even harder when I blew some in your face. You were so cute._

_I hope your days in the future are as good as the day I had today. I love you with all my heart, forever. Love always, Mom._

_P.S. Don't throw this away, okay? You have to keep it for me until I get a jar of my own. I'm counting on you to keep it safe for me!_

I wanted to badly to throw the jar at the wall. I wanted to break everything into a million pieces because I was angry and frustrated and fed up. I wanted to scream and rip into the couch cushions and throw a chair at the wall and set the curtains on fire. That note made my heart ache. I was in a relatively good mood from being in Levi's apartment again and from doing a decent cleaning job I knew Levi would (semi) approve of. It hurt and I was sad, but it was the best I felt in a little while. But of course, leave it to a note close to home to ruin it. 

I was always happy to read my mother's note. It always made my chest warm up and remember her smile and hear her yelling at me for not grabbing enough firewood for the fireplace when I was younger. Her small letter always ignited an onslaught of memories about her and the times we spent, but I didn't want it right that second. There was enough damage to my heart already, I didn't need to be reminded that not only did I not have Levi, I didn't have my mother either. It was a punch to the stomach, a blow to my chest, and it wasn't what I needed.

What I needed was Levi, and that clearly wasn't happening any time soon. It hurt, but I understood. It would take time and effort to finding him, if he was even still around, and I accepted it. But just because I accepted it didn't mean it didn't hurt any less. So I did what I could - I didn't break, I didn't smash anything, I simply put my mother's note back in the jar along with the rest of Levi's, set the jar back on the fireplace mantel, and went back into Levi's room. I looked around for a few minutes, thinking over what my next move should be, where I should go from there, how I should proceed. And I came to a conclusion. 

Back at the front door, I slipped into my shoes and grabbed my keys from my pocket. The elevator ride down was thankfully quick and the run to my car was even quicker. I might have broken a traffic law or two on my way back to Mikasa and Annie's place, but that was easily overlooked. I parked next to Mikasa's Jeep and saw Annie's spot was empty, so she was still at work. Which meant I had to face Mikasa and probably get an earful for what I wanted to do.

I was a little out of breath from running up the stairs by the time I reached our apartment floor and looked a little more than winded by the time I threw the door open. Mikasa was sitting on the couch, sporting some black shorts and a tank, clearly lounging post-workout. The ramen noodles she was munching on were a little redundant and defeated the purpose of working out in the first place, but she was built and could wrestle a tiger, so it didn't matter much.

She looked up from the TV and her bowl of noodles to wave hello as I walked in. I hurriedly kicked my shoes off, waved a very brief hello, and jogged to my room. Thankfully, I didn't have much to begin with, so shoving my shit in a duffel bag was a cinch. I went back in the living room, more than a little spent and exhausted from so much running, and plopped down next to my sister. She slurped on some noodles, looking at me with an eyebrow raised and a questioning face. 

Once she chewed and swallowed, Mikasa asked, "Going somewhere?"

I waited a few minutes, catching my breath. "Levi's apartment."

Her face froze and I watched as her eyes lit up with confusion and minor disapproval. "You're going to Levi's place."

"Yeah."

She leaned back and turned to me. "You honestly think that's a good idea, Eren?"

"I was there all morning." Clearly that wasn't what she was expecting me to say. "It was a little dusty so I cleaned it up a bit. I knew he wouldn't want it dirty because god knows if he ever found it like that he'd probably punch a baby or something."

"Wouldn't put it passed him," Mikasa muttered and shook her head. "Are you sure you're okay going there? What about the payment and everything? He's been gone for a little while so I'm sure there must be a rent to pay."

I shrugged and sighed. "He already paid it for the next eight months. I think he did it on purpose, hoping I'd wake up and have a place to go or something. It'll be kinda hard being there without him, but I think I'll be okay. I've just been mooching off you and Annie for a little while and I think it's time I leave you two be."

Mikasa set her ramen down on the coffee table and grabbed my hands from my lap. "Eren you know we don't mind having you here. We love having you here. It's not a burden at all, we're glad we can help."

"No I know, but I have to get back on my feet somehow. It might take a while, but it's a step, right?"

Mikasa smiled and squeezed my hands. "Yeah. But if you need anything you have to promise you'll let us know. Armin, too."

"Promise."

"And if you forget how to cook eggs in the morning call me, I'll help you cook them. Oh and I know laundry gets you confused so I can help with that. And don't forget -"

I rolled my eyes and stood up. "Okay  _mom!_ " We both laughed as she got off the couch to come hug me. 

"Just be careful and call me or Armin, even Jean and Annie if you need anything, okay?"

"Got it. You too."

Within a matter of minutes, I was back in my car with all my belongings, albeit there weren't many. It was a relief going back to Levi's apartment; being inside it was like being with a part of Levi. I folded my clothes and put them in my drawer and found the one below it was empty, so whatever remaining things I had went in there. I grabbed a towel from the linen closet in the hall and hopped in a quick shower, putting the water as hot as I could withstand. Just like every other human being, in the shower I thought about a lot of things and discovered the secret to life (not really, but let's be honest, we all have shocking revelations when we're in the shower).

I made a promise to myself. I swore that every morning, no matter how much I didn't want to get out of bed, no matter how long it would take to find Levi, no matter what mood I was in and no matter how I was feeling, I would look in the mirror and tell myself I'd be okay. If it took me an hour to say it, I'd wait in front of the mirror until I was ready and tell myself everything was going to be okay, I was going to be okay, and everything was going to work out. Maybe if I said it long enough I'd believe it. Maybe it would rebuild the strength I knew I used to have. Maybe I'd gain some of the determination I had pre-shooting and get myself together enough to start finding Levi.

It might not work. I might be lying to myself every day and I might be just trying to find an excuse, a way to convince myself that no matter what I would find Levi, even if the effort was futile. But I had to try. I had been moping around and being a grump for too long. It was time to get back on my feet and find my goddamn boyfriend. And if I had to look in the mirror and lie to myself every damn day, if that's what it took to get him back, to get  _us_ back, then I'd do it a million times and then a million more. Whatever it took.

With that, I made another promise; it probably wouldn't come to fruition any time soon because it wasn't as high up on my list of priorities as it probably should have been, but I promised to go back to school. I wanted to get a degree and finish my education. In the grand scheme of things, it was an important feat I needed to accomplish at some point, but I didn't think I could do it by myself. I had Mikasa and Armin, but they couldn't go to school for me and they couldn't find Levi for me. I needed to do both myself, one step at a time, just not at the  _same_ time. School would happen, but until I found Levi, it wouldn't. But I promised myself, eventually, I'd go back and finish.

And even though things were shitty, they were also...not shitty. The hair over my scar where the bullet exit wound was was finally starting to grow back. I was one step closer in the right direction. I still had no idea where the key led to, but I'd find that out soon enough. I had work the following day and I was happy to have my routine back in order.

That night, I fell asleep on my side of Levi's bed, smelling the faint scent he left behind on his pillows, on the covers, everywhere. He was everywhere. Although I was heavyhearted, it was more consoling than anything. I surrounded myself in his blankets and pillows and was more comfortable than I ever remember being. 

I had my safety nets, I had my sister and my best friend, and now I had Levi's apartment.

I would be okay.

Everything would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like with Miscalc, this fic will probably take a turn down a road I don't even know about, so please bear with me! It's most likely gonna be made up as I go with a vague end-goal. I go where the characters wanna go. Plus I work like a fucking animal so the time I have to write is limited.
> 
> Also, yo there were a couple people who came (off anon) on my tumblr that I spoke to privately and admitted they were intimidated by me? Guuuys I'm really nice I promise! Please don't ever feel shy or whatever to come say hi to me or add me on other sites and stuff. I'd love to talk to you guys and send you dumb snaps of my face and talk about shit with you! I live off feedback and friendship, come to me my chitlins <3
> 
> Thank you as always for reading ! (/^3^)/


	3. Heavy Hearts and Steady Flows (Of Tears)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream can sometimes be a memory, and Eren's dream is one he's never forgotten and one he's not likely to forget in his lifetime. Combined with reliving a piece of his past, he finds something that does a little more than tug at his heart strings and is a little more than overwhelming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter name: Poetry Is For A Heart In Love
> 
> I wrote some sads this chapter so have fun with _that_. Let's play a game: how many times does Dani say sorry (sorry).
> 
> Also there are a lot of breaks, it's 8.5k, and im not the best with poetry sorry orz

[ Eren ]

Most people like to go out with a bang when they die, and that's why if you research some of the most famous last words, you'll find that they have been and can be quite poetic. Julius Rosenberg, who died in 1953, said,  "We are innocent. That is the whole truth. To forsake this truth is to pay too high a price even for the priceless gift of life. For life thus purchased we could not live out in dignity" before his execution. While he was tied to a stake and watched the Torah be burned with him, Akiba ben Joseph said, "The paper burns, but the words fly free." Two people who have left the world with words to remember, that meant so much to them that they had to say them before their last breath was taken.

Then you have Francis "Two Gun" Crowley, who was a convicted murderer and bank robber      whose last words were, "You sons of bitches. Give my love to Mother." And there's no way we could forget Humphrey Bogart who's claimed last sentence was,  "I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis," or St. John Philby, who died in 1960 and said on his deathbed, "God, I'm bored."

Such inspirational words.

But really, when you think of last words, whether its from a loved one or a famous murderer, you think they'd leave some knowledge, some life advice that they picked up along the way, something remotely sentimental to pass on. But that's not how it always is. Some people just leave without a preconceived notion of their end, untimely or otherwise. Some people don't have the luxury of lying in a comfy bed waiting for the Reaper to cross them over while holding their hands. Mostly, Death lingers like a cat waiting for the right time to snatch it's prey; He lies in wait, and when anyone least expects it, He swoops down and latches on, ripping you from everything you've ever known. No hand holding, no sweet words of comfort, no chance to leave behind any last words of wisdom or goodbyes. The person He grips like a vice is gone before they can blink.

Just like my mother.

 

* * *

 

"Eren for the last time, get up! We have to leave in ten minutes or we're gonna be late!" 

Cabinets were banging shut, water was running, feet were stomping along the hardwood floors and all I wanted was my pillow. It was so soft and my blankets had wormed their way around my tiny body so snug during the night that I was too comfortable to even think about moving.  _Five more minutes, mommy._  Before I could drift back to sleep, more feet were stomping, and this time, they were coming upstairs. I had all of 2 seconds to scramble out of bed and find my clothes before she came in my room and whipped my butt into next week.

I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it didn't even matter - as soon as I tried to untangle the blanket from my limbs, my upper body fell off the bed and my mother threw the bedroom door open, staring at me with her signature frustrated face.

"Eren Jaeger you need to be at school in less than ten minutes and you're still in bed."

The match with my bed covers continued as I tried to get free, telling my mother in the process, "I'm trying ma, I'm trying!" After another minute of struggling, I stopped and started crying. "Mommy it's not letting me go, we have to go mom, get it off me!"

She rolled her eyes at me and laughed, walking the few feet to my bedside and pulling me upright. She found the top of the covers under my bottom and pulled them from underneath me, unwrapping me like a Christmas present. Once I was free, my mother kissed my forehead before pulling my ear. "Now get dressed, at lightning speed. Faster than Flash, okay? And if you do this again tomorrow morning, I'm not helping you."

"Mom!" She had the best laugh, light-hearted and contagious. It made my mood lift, the morning tears stop, and gave me the motivation to get out of bed and get dressed. Just like it did every other morning before school.

That day turned out to be particularly shitty. Stupid Jean with his stupid Batman action figure was trying to top my Flash figure. Back when I was in fourth grade, Batman seemed so overrated, and even as I grew into my teens I thought so too. I liked Batman, he was a cool dude, but he just didn't do it for me. Flash was my favorite; he had unmatchable speed and he was funny in the books mom read to me. I guess he seemed more human to me because it wasn't believable that a person was a billionaire by day and a superhero by night. Although if I was honest with fourth-grade me, I would be a superhero with a bajillion dollars too, if I could. But my stubbornness refused to back down.

And so, in the middle of the playground with all the other kids, Jean called me out and said Flash was dumb and Batman was so much cooler. 

Jean held out his arm, Batman figure in his grip, and said to me, "Flash doesn't even have a cape, which  _obviously_ means Batman is better." 

"Nu uh! Capes are stupid, just like Mr. Incredible said! They hurt the superheroes!" 

"Do not! Batman has a cool car. He's got the Batmobile! Where's Flash's Flash-mobile, huh?"

By now I'm fuming, because not only is Jean being super mean to Flash, but he's  _insulting_  Flash, and I absolutely could not have that. 

"Flash is so fast he doesn't need a car. At least he's got a super power, Batman's just a human!" Now this  _really_ pissed off Jean and I knew I pushed a button. His lips jutted out in a pout while his brows knitted together and his cheeks flushed. 

"You're only human too, you stupid jerk!" He ran forward and pushed me to the ground, knocking my Flash figure out of my hands and shoving my back into the dirt and landing on top of me. My hands grabbed onto the front of his shirt and pushed him back so I rolled us around and he was the one in the dirt. I don't know what part of my brain told me to, or how I even thought to do it, but before I could register what was happening, my hand came in contact with the side of Jean's face in a firm  _Slap!_

It took me and Jean a moment to contemplate what I'd just done. His eyes were wide, , head turned in the direction I hit him, my hand frozen on his face, and as if his cheek were hotter than a burning stove, I retracted my hand and stumbled off his body. I tripped on my shoelace and fell backwards, landing on my butt and staring wide-eyed at Jean, his cheek rapidly began turning to darker shades of pink The shock wore off and soon the entire playground heard his wails and saw him cradling his hurt skin.

 

* * *

 

 "He started it! He was making fun of Flash!"

A drawn out sigh. "Even if he did, you hurt him, Eren. You shouldn't do that to anyone, understand? Even if his favorite superhero is Batman."

I sniffled and hung my head, tiny thumbs tracing the lightning bolt on the front of Flash's plastic costume. Who cares if Flash didn't have a Flash-mobile or a zillion billion dollars. He was cool, and I'd bet my favorite Pokemon cards against anything that he was the best. Who cares what stupid Jean thought, anyway?

As we got out of the car, my mother gathered her things while I dramatically dragged my feet to the front of our house. She opened the door without a word as I said, "I want nothing to do with anyone ever again" and slunk into one of the kitchen tables inside.

She didn't say anything, letting me brew in my puddle of anger over the incident from earlier while dropping her bags on the table to put away. I watched her for a few seconds before I realized I wanted to be alone and loudly walked up the steps until I was in my room, door shut and face down in a pillow. 

I wasn't crying more than five minutes before I heard a soft knock on my door. Without a reply, my mother turned the handle and walked in, face in a calm smile.

"Hey stinker, can I come in?" I turned my face back in the pillow and grunted. She sat on my bedside, stroking my hair and humming the song she always sang me to sleep with. We stayed like that for a little while, with my mother playing in my hair and her singing to me, until my tears stopped and my eyes peeked over the the pillow case. 

"Stinker isn't a nice word, mommy." I earned a chuckle and a scratch on the top of my head.

"It's not, but you're  _my_ stinker, so it's okay."

My entire face left the pillow and I was on my knees, kneeling in front of her with a pout. "Says who!" 

"Says me!" Her hands pushed me down on the bed while she lifted my shirt and blew a raspberry into my stomach.

"Mommy st-stop!" I tried so, so hard to be mad, I really did. But the vibrations from her cheeks tickled too much and I was in fits of laughter. "Mo-mommy stop that tickles!"

She kept going until the tears in my eyes weren't from sadness but from the relentless giggles. After she had her fun, she stopped and gave me time to calm down. Her hands were back in my hair, shuffling it around and making the ends stick up.

We were quiet for a minute, basking in our small bit of fun, before she said, "Is Mr. Grumpy Gills gone now?" I hung my head and muttered a small, "yes" before she kissed the top of my head and slipped her finger under my chin to pull my head back up.

"Good. Now how about we cheer up a little, hmm?" I tilted my head to the side, confused as to what in the world could cheer me up, as my mother lifted herself off my bed and went downstairs. I followed her every step back down in the kitchen, watched her put her apron on, and turn to me with her hands in the air. "Let's bake some muffins."

"CUPCAKES!"

"Not cupcakes, muffins."

"Same thing, mom." She rolled her eyes and said a "nu uh", which resulted in minutes of going back and forth, debating on whether cupcakes and muffins were the same thing or not (they were to me). 

But it's okay. Sometimes getting in trouble and being sent home early from school is a good thing, because you get to bake muffins (cupcakes) with your mom for the rest of the day.

We made her signature lemon ricotta muffins - lemon based muffins with roasted almond slices and sprinkled sugar on top. The lemon wasn't too overpowering and they weren't too sweet. Mom always knew how to bake to perfection; nothing was too sweet or too savory. It was a gift my stomach greatly appreciated. 

As soon as we were done, we sat down and let our legs have a break from standing so long. The kitchen was a little hot and stuffy from the continuous use of the oven, so I munched on a popsicle while we waited for the muffins to finish baking. My mother was putting the recipe book away when she turned around and told me, "Go get some paper and a pen from upstairs." I got up and turned to the stairs to retrieve what she asked for, stomping my way downstairs with the supplies for added after-effect. I plopped myself in the same chair and waited for her to fetch another pen from a drawer.

My mother walked over and sat across from me, setting down a glass mason jar in the space between us. It wasn't filled with liquid or homemade jam like it usually is, and upon noticing my confused face, mom laughed and opened her hand. "Pass over a piece of paper." When I did, she ripped it in half and kept ripping, until one whole sheet of blank paper turned into small squares. "You do it too. But not too tiny. We're gonna write on them." So I did.

White paper squares littered a large portion of the kitchen table once we finished ripping a few pages. "Now what?" I asked my mother.

"Take your pen." I grabbed my pen. "Hold your head with one hand." I help my head with one hand. "And think." I tried to think, but I got stuck.

"What do I think about?"

"One good thing." She wanted me to think about one good thing? Why only one? Why couldn't I think of many good things? Didn't she realize how hard it was to think of only  _one_ good thing? I could think of a million and five. I could think of my Flash action figure and of that quiet boy Armin who I didn't talk to much but who always read me interesting books his grandfather bought him. I could think of the Flash costume she promised to hand-make me for Halloween that year or of how soft the red scarf she made me was. I could think of new light-up sneakers and pink footballs and astronauts playing baseball with aliens in space. One good thing was too hard to narrow down, my nine year old brain could barely process one thing at a time, let alone thing of a single nice thing.

"But mommy I can't just think of  _one_. There's lots of good things. Like mac and cheese and lightning."

I earned another laugh from her. "Let me be more specific. Think of one good thing that happened today."

Now she got me. Didn't she realize that the day sucked? I fought with Jean and got sent home early, there was  _nothing_ good that happened that day. 

"Does making Jean cry count?"

"Eren!" She tugged my ear and I winced. "No, that does not count and no, that is not a good thing." She paused, watching me rub my ear. "What made you smile today?" What made me smile that day? My eyes traveled to the ceiling, as if the answer were written in plain sight for me to see while I gave it some thought. Well, I slept really good, but that didn't make me  _smile_. I had some pretty good cereal for breakfast and a nice packed sandwich for lunch, but that didn't make me smile either. Armin wasn't there to read to me, so if anything I frowned because he wasn't there, I didn't smile.

I thought and I thought until only one thing made sense.

My eyes slid from the ceiling to meet my mother's, the same color that I have in my own, and it was almost like looking in a mirror. She raised an eyebrow and said, "Think of something?"

"Yeah."

"What is it? What made you smile today, Eren?"

"You, mommy!" And as soon as I said it, I knew in my tiny 9-year-old heart that it was completely true. The day was poop. I slapped Jean, I made him cry, my shirt got dirty from falling on the floor, my shoes got scuffed up a little. Nothing really went right during the day. 

But I had my mother. I woke up in a tangled mess, hanging off the side of the bed, and who helped me? My mother. I had some pretty good cereal and a nice packed sandwich for lunch because who made it? My mother. I was crying in my room by myself because I was sad, and who calmed me down? My mother.

I loved her. She was my mom, my best friend. She always scared away the monsters in my closet and sang me to sleep at night. She let me help her bake cupcakes in the kitchen and let me judge her on her outfits for work in the morning.

She was irreplaceable.

And the smile on her face when she heard that she was the good thing that happened to me that day? Or the tears that warned her of spilling onto her cheeks? That's what made my heart swell, because I loved her, more than anything. Even more than Flash. And as I heard the words I said echo in my ears, I knew it was the right thing to say. Because even on days that were complete crap, days where I just wanted to hole up in my room and not speak to anyone for weeks, she was the good thing that always happened, the only person to make me smile.

She wiped her eyes and let out a shaky laugh. Her hand found mine on the table and she gave it a squeeze while gesturing to the pen in my hand. "Write it down, like this."

We held hands until I had to write. She told me to put the date on top and write the good thing in the middle. In messy handwriting, the note read,  _I got in a fight with Jean today, but I'm not sad about it anymore because Mommy made me smile. And she packs good lunches._  I asked if she wanted to read it but she said no, and she'd explain why in a bit.

When I was finished with the note, I put my pen down and looked up to my mother for further instructions, which she happily gave. "So now, I want you to fold the note into the tiniest square you can make, okay?" 

"Got it!" I folded and I folded until the square was the size of my thumb nail. "Now what?"

"Toss it in." My mother held the jar to me, and like the expert in basketball that I was, shot the note straight in the jar. Cheers were heard all around and high fives were given.

"So we just leave it in there?"

"We just leave it in there. And this is what I want you to do from now on. Every day when something good happens, no matter how small, I want you to date a square, write it down, fold it up and put it in this jar. Even if you can't think of anything, think of _something_ and put it in here."

"But what happens when there's too many and they spill? I don't wanna clean it."

"Then we'll put them in a box and start fresh. Or we can get a second jar, how's that?"

"Okay!" I was content with the answer, but my brain conjured another question. "Mommy what do we do with them?"

"I was gonna get there, if you'd give me a second to speak." She booped my nose and said, "At the end of the year, we're gonna dump them out on your bed and I'll sit with you and read every single one."

"All of them?"

"All of them. And then we can see how good the year was and all the good things that happened."

"That sounds like a good plan."

 

* * *

 

That night, when it was time for bed, I dressed in my pajamas (rockin' blue PJS with space ships and aliens on them - really comfy) and hopped in bed. My mother came in to kiss me goodnight before shutting my light and heading off to her room. Dad didn't come home because he was working an extra shift at the hospital, so it was just me and her. 

She stopped in front of the doorway before leaving and whispered, "I love you, Eren."

"I love you too, mom."

The door closed behind her and I almost fell asleep, but my eyes fell on my happy jar sitting on my bedside table. Sleep was calling me and I wanted to answer, but there was something in the jar that I didn't realize had been put in there. 

There were two folded squares instead of one. I had only put one in there because mommy said to only put one a day, so why were there two?

I pushed the covers off my chest and sat cross legged on the edge of my bed, reaching for the mason jar. The note I grabbed was mine when I opened it, so I refolded it and put it back after grabbing the other one. I hesitated, remembering her saying that I couldn't read them until the end of the year, but I was far too curious to wait another hundred thousand days. With careful fingers, I unfolded the note and scanned my mother's neat handwriting. 

_Eren -- I don't have a jar of my own, so I'm putting this in yours. You want to know the good thing that happened to me today? I got to spend all day with you. You laughed when I got flour on my nose from baking cupcakes and you laughed even harder when I blew some in your face. You were so cute._

_I hope your days in the future are as good as the day I had today. I love you with all my heart, forever. Love always, Mom._

_P.S. Don't throw this away, okay? You have to keep it for me until I get a jar of my own. I'm counting on you to keep it safe for me!_

 

* * *

 

The next morning continued much like the day before - tangled in bed sheets, barely making it to school on time. I apologized to Jean for hitting me, to which he replied that it was okay. As soon as the teacher turned around he stuck his tongue out at me.

At the end of the school day, I chose to take the bus home instead of my mom coming to pick me up, which was a good choice anyway because she had called the school to inform them she was working late and couldn't come get me and gave the verbal okay for me to take the school bus. It was a relatively short ride home, but I found that boy Armin sitting by himself with his books and sat with him. He asked if I wanted him to read to me, which I never said no to, and we only got through a few pages before my stop came. I always hated that his was the one after mine because while it was close, it wasn't close enough that we could walk together. I bid him farewell and said I'd see him tomorrow. 

Mom always made me keep keys in the pocket of my backpack for days where her or dad couldn't come get me at school. I fished them out of my pocket and let myself in the house, dropping my bookbag and kicking off my shoes as I went. I made myself a PB&J sandwich for my after-school snack and parked myself in front of the TV in the living room, electing to ignore my homework until the next two NCIS episodes were over. 

Two hours passed in front of the TV and then I did my homework. I was home alone. Another hour and a half passed until I finished said homework. I was home alone. Dinner time came and went with another PB&J sandwich and I was still home alone. By then it was nearing 7pm and I was worried - dad didn't call to say he was working another night shift at the hospital and mom didn't call to tell me she'd be home a little later. I tried dialing her cell on the house phone but it went straight to voicemail. I called dad, his did the same thing.

I didn't know what to do but wait. There's nothing a nine-year-old _can_ do but wait. So I sat on the couch and did just that.

Someone was shaking me and whispering my name, calling me and telling me to wake up. It sounded muffled and it was hard to hear, I wasn't sure if I was having a dream or if it was real. One particularly hard shove told me that it was, in fact, an actual person trying to wake me up.

I dozed off on the living room couch, throw pillow over my head and a line of drool pooling on the cushion beneath my head. The pillow explained the muffled voice, but the voice itself didn't deem to be recognizable. Rubbing my eyes to help me become at least a little coherent, I blinked a few times to try and see just who was in my house speaking to me.

A woman, petite with platinum blond hair and shiny eyes, smiled down at me as her hand retracted from my shoulder. "You're Eren, right?"

"Who wants to know?" Snarky mouth always did get me in trouble. Sorry Mom. 

The woman was patient and sustained her smile. She seemed gentle and comforting, almost like mom, and I liked her already. Albeit fourth grade Eren didn't exactly have serial-killer radar to determine who was dangerous or not, she seemed pleasant. 

"My name is Nanaba, I work with your father at the hospital."

Mom's voice rang in my head, _Never talk to strangers, Eren._

"Do you have ID?" Curiosity killed the cat. 

She did, in fact, have ID and it was, in fact, a hospital employee ID card that did say her name was Nanaba.

"Okay, Nanabanana, how did you get in my house and why are you here? Where are my parents?"

Her expression faltered and I heard my pulse quicken in my ears. "Your father gave me house keys. He told me to come and get you."

Come and get me? Why couldn't he come get me himself? And where did he want this banana to take me? I didn't even know her, why would he trust her with me? "Take me where?"

"Your mom, she's..." Her eyes found the couch cushion, probably the spot of drool that accumulated during my slumber, and refused to look at me.

"My mom what?"

"Your mom was...she's hurt, Eren. She's at the hospital with your father. He told me to come get you and bring you there."

 

* * *

 

Last words sound great on paper and are nice to read about when they're lighthearted and full of knowledge or life advice.

Last words mean a lot more when they're from your parent on their deathbed.

But I didn't get any last words in the hospital when I went to see my mom. I don't even know what her definite last words were because I wasn't with her when she died or when she got hurt. I didn't remember the last words she told me while dropping me off for school that morning because I didn't think they'd mean so much to me later in the day. If her death were as peaceful and predictable as some people's, I would've held onto them. I would've committed the way she said them, the exact words she used, what time she said them at - I would've committed all of them to memory to relive over and over. But I didn't know. All I remembered, all I remember to this day, is the "I love you, Eren" she said after tucking me in goodnight the night before. I still see her face, illuminated by the warm glow of the hall light as she stood in my doorway. I see her with one hand on the frame with her other resting on the doorknob. I can feel the silky fabric of her nightgown beneath my fingers when she hugged me goodnight and I could feel her lips, gentle and loving, against my forehead as she kissed me goodnight. 

It was like a dream, walking into the hospital with a woman I'd only met an hour before. It didn't seem real to see my father crying for the first time on a hospital bench, hands in his face and elbows on his knees. I was waiting for someone to say, "Haha Eren Jaeger, we're just kidding! This is a sick practical joke and we're just kidding," but no one said that. The only words I heard for the weeks to follow were "I'm so sorry for your loss" and "She was a lovely woman." I didn't hear the sound of my mother's laughter. I didn't hear the soft shuffle of her feet in the morning when she walked to the bathroom in her fuzzy slippers. I didn't hear her chastising me for not doing my homework as soon as I got home. I heard words of empathy and words of feigned comfort, but not my mother's voice, and that would never come again.

I didn't see my mother's body. I didn't kiss her on the forehead goodnight and tell her I'd see her soon. I didn't see her at the funeral. I didn't see her ever again except in pictures and old family videos of when I was too young to appreciate everything about her. I didn't see her after the night she put me to bed and that was always the last image I held on to; I couldn't forget it if I tried. It's burned into the back of retinas like a hot coal branding on an animal. 

Two months later, my father hung himself in his office at home. I found him hanging from the ceiling fan by an extension chord wire. 

The only thing he left was a note that said "I miss her."

Nothing for me. Nothing about the finances or foster care or anything about my future. He didn't leave last words of advice or life knowledge. He didn't even have his last words be poetic.  _I miss her_.

I miss her too.

I took his three words and put them through the shredder.

 

* * *

 

I woke up in a cold sweat in Levi's bed, shaking and remembering the dream I had during the night. My chest hurt, like I had an elephant sitting on top of me. I closed my eyes and saw my mother, standing in the doorway, and hear the "I love you, Eren." I saw my father's lifeless body dangling from the ceiling and heard the metal shears tearing my father's useless three words to shreds. Flinging the comforter and sheets off of me, I walked to the bathroom to start fixing myself up.

When you make a promise, it goes without speaking that said promise should be sustained and held near at heart for safekeeping. Promises are made to be kept and if they are broken, it can be seen as a sign of weakness, of distrust. People depend on such verbal, and sometimes written, commitments and mostly put their full faith in them, hoping they'll be carried out and treated with respect. They come in different forms, spoken different ways, are made by different people. Contracts at work are a promise of loyalty and service. Promises between friends are bound by locking fingers and entrusting a piece of your heart. Promises in relationships are engraved in wedding rings and professes of undying love. In a lot of cases, they're broken and disregarded, excuses and lies becoming the knives that sever the faith people put in the promise in the first place. Contracts get terminated because of deceit. Friendships crumble because of traitorous behavior. The threads of marriage fray and become worn, tearing at the seams and ending up in divorce. Ties that bond people through all the various forms of engagements are forged and broken more often than we'd like to see and more often than we notice. It's inevitable, but just because it's imminent doesn't mean they hurt any less; no matter the basis for such a bond, it carries significant meaning all the same.

Except when you promise yourself something that sounds cheesy as fuck. Then it might be overlooked. 

Because really, who in their right mind makes a  _pledge_ to themselves to say good things in the fucking bathroom mirror to cheer them up? Who  _does_  that?

Me, apparently. And I am a certified idiot. (Unless you're into this sort of thing and it works for you, than kudos my friend. Rock on). 

And there I stood, in front of the bathroom mirror, clad in nothing but black briefs and mismatching ankle socks. In avoiding carrying on the dumb promise I made the night before, I noticed little things the longer I stood there. The bags under my eyes were lessening, if only by a little. My face had regained the fullness it had lost from lack of eating. Very light, barely noticeable freckles began to dust across the bridge of my nose and onto the edges of my cheeks. My hair had gotten longer, going a little past my chin, but it looked better than having a bird's nest on top of my head, so I didn't bother getting it cut. I looked more or less like my old self again, which made my morning a little more tolerable. 

I was never going to make it to work on time if I didn't get the fuck in the shower. Deciding to not go back on my word, even if it was to myself, I sucked in a deep breath, stared at myself and muttered a quick, "Today will be okay. I will do my work, I will smile when I have to, or when I don't, and it will be okay. I'll be okay." 

It turns out I was right - nothing spectacular happened, but nothing bad happened either. My day went by with no one aggravating me and no one getting upset over their arrangement not being made the way they thought it would be. I even got a few compliments from some people, saying they thought the flower shop was really well kept and how friendly I was (which was mildly surprising, considering I wasn't exactly in the most talkative mood) and how gorgeous our flowers were. Neutral mood zone aside, it was a pleasant day with pleasant customers and a decent work flow. Nothing too complicated arose and nothing too simple let me catch a break; I was kept on my toes but wasn't overflowing with orders and requests. 

Maybe that talking to yourself in the mirror thing might actually bring some good. 

When I got back to the apartment, I chose to cook instead of heating something up, which had become my usual bad habit. But when I want to and when I'm feeling it, I make a mean chicken casserole. You really can't go wrong with cubed chicken, broccoli, a shit ton of melted cheese and rice with toasted breadcrumb. Shit's the bomb, try it some time. 

With a fantastically made, unhealthy, but oh-so-delicious fattening casserole ready to be devoured, I parked my ass on the couch and turned on the TV. The NCIS theme song had just finished and watching it made me think of Armin, of how we used to watch it in our dorm room at school whenever we could. A pang of nostalgia hit my heart, but I quickly dispelled it. Instead, I opened snapchat on my phone and recorded the beginning of the episode, sending it to Arm with the caption "look what's on channel 550." He responded with a picture of him and Jean on Jean's couch with a bowl of popcorn nestled between them and "WE'RE WATCHING IT TOO" in the black box beneath.

After the casserole was devoured (which it was in record time), I cleaned the dishes, put them in their respective cabinets and plopped back on the couch and buried my face in the throw pillow. As unappealing as moving sounded, I couldn't sit still. I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling. I turned on my side to stare at the couch cushion. I stood up and paced around the living room before finally deciding to get the grime of the day off me with a shower. Levi had a Bluetooth speaker that he kept under the sink in the bathroom, specifically because blasting music in the shower was one of my favorite things to do that rubbed off on him. While I was setting up the speaker, I turned the water on to give it a minute and heat up. I wasn't up for hearing a single artist and I didn't feel like putting it on shuffle, because then I'd just want all the songs skipped anyway, so I settled for my shower playlist. It has always been appropriately labeled "shower shit" for such times and it is appropriately filled with amazing un-skippable music. I hit shuffle, listened to the beginning of Carry On My Wayward Son slowly thump through the speakers, and turned up the volume so it drowned out the sound of rushing water. _  
_

I sang along, slightly out of tune but to the beat nonetheless, and scrubbed whatever dirt had latched to my skin during the day. My fingers thrummed against my shampoo bottle in perfect correspondence to the guitar solos (or as perfect as a non-guitar-playing tone-deaf 20-something year old can get). I scrubbed until I was red, raw, and up to Levi's standards of cleanliness before slipping into a comfy pair of clean briefs and sweatpants.

Shaking the water out of my hair with the towel, I looked back up in the mirror and sighed, mumbling to myself an incoherent "good job today" and all but sprinted to the bedroom. I shucked the towel in the hamper and flopped on the duvet, sinking right into the synthetic fluff.

Despite the day being a decent one and the night being relatively nice, a short bout of negativity washed over me and I was hit with uncontrollable tears. Not the fast-paced stream, but the ones that take their time falling, that slide down your cheek but refuse to fall away. Maybe it was the dream from last night of my parents that made me upset or maybe there wasn't a reason at all. A reason isn't always necessary to cry, and sometimes no reason is the best reason because you just let it go. Whatever the cause, I was upset and chose to just let it go. 

The comforter smelled like him. The pillows smelled like him. His side of the bed still retained the imprint of the shape of his body, the dip in the mattress waiting for Levi's body to come fill it back up. One of his pillows was flattened more so than the others because he used that one the most. I remembered him telling me he didn't like overly fluffy pillows because it "felt like he was inhaling feathers and he didn't feel like sleeping with a goose." His reading glasses were still folded in the same spot he left them in on the nightstand. Everything that he left behind had remained where it was and seeing so many pieces of him around the apartment gets under my skin. It's not an all-the-time occurrence that I get so down being surrounded by his belongings, but that night just being around remnants of him instead of the physical him made my heart ache. Combined with the fresh dream of my parents, it was all around a shit night. 

The heels of my hands dug into my eyes and I wiped the tears away, frustrated that I allowed myself to cry just from seeing his glasses and an image in my head I saw almost daily. I swung my legs over Levi's side of the bed and looked at his nightstand. A corner of a piece of paper was sticking out of the top drawer, and more than a little curious, I carefully opened it to see what was inside. Whatever it was, it wasn't important enough for him to take with him to wherever he went, so I figured it'd be okay to peek at.

With a series of squeaks and groans from the tracks in the wood, the drawer resisted compliance and got stuck a quarter of the way out. I pulled as gently as I could so as not to break it, lord knows Levi would've killed me, but failed when it refused to budge. I pulled it again with no luck and sighed, until third time's the charm did the job and the drawer was free. The wood caught the top of my foot while the papers in the drawer splayed across the floor. With a loud groan and a sore foot, I set the drawer aside in favor of reading whatever content the pages held.

It was a fairly small stack, no more than 30 pages stapled together, with a title page and scribbles that decorated each line and margin. 

In bold on the top page, the title read  _Wings Of Freedom_ with the subtitle underneath in smaller font reading  _The sequel to Attack On Titan by L. Ackerman._ This was the sequel he was talking about, the one he was having trouble with because he didn't know how to continue. I remembered he told me he was scared; he worried relentlessly over whether or not he could continue with  _Attack On Titan_  and how he wasn't sure if he could make an already great story even better. Living up to his bestseller was stressful on him and he didn't want to let down his readers and not do the sequel any justice. I never knew he actually started working on it.

I flipped the cover page over, careful to make the crease by the staple at the top corner even, and read what seemed to be a rough draft of the dedication page.

 

_The stars have become jealous, my bright-eyed boy,_

_For You've taken their shine and stolen their grace._

_The vast oceans have become green with envy,_

_For the blue they once held now sways within You._

_The sun has been stripped of its incandescence,_   _  
_

_For it has chosen to dance behind Your eyes._

_I do fear the jungles have become livid,_

_For the green they once sustained now thrives in You._

_You've long since angered nature, my bright-eyed boy,_

_For She feels more than cheated of Her beauty._

_If You weren't as dazzling as You've become_

_She'd take it back faster than a lightning strike._

_She has been taken by You, my bright-eyed boy,_

_But never as much as I will always be._

 

\--

 

_For Eren,_

_My sun and stars, keeper of my heart._

 

I lost track of how many times I read the poem and the closing note and of how long I'd been sitting on the same spot on the floor with the pages in my hands. I lost track of how many times I imagined Levi sitting down on the couch, laptop on the coffee table and feet crossed beneath him so he was sitting on his ankles, thinking of what to say. I could almost  _see_ him pacing the living room, rolling rhymes in his head and throwing his hands up when he couldn't think of any. He said he was never good with poetry, that the structures and stanzas and supposed deep meaningful short sentences intimidated him. He'd drink his tea, green tea with hazelnut and three sweet'n low when he needed a sweet fix, and fold the sleeves of his sweater over his fingers to keep them from the scorching heat of the mug. The crease between his brows would deepen from concentration while his eyes squinted at his computer screen, as if he'd find the perfect word for an incomplete sentence somewhere in the pixels. Sometimes he wouldn't find the word he was looking for, the phrase he was trying to complete left deficient, and he'd walk around with his head in his mental thesaurus while his mouth would run through synonym after synonym. He'd recite hundreds of words as if speaking each one aloud would lead him to that  _one_  fucking stupid little term he couldn't catch. Often it would work and a light bulb would go off in his head, his eyes lighting up with relief and excitement at discovering what he so desperately needed. I remember how he would rush to his laptop with his fingers practically itching to type out his new-found expression and once it was marked down and saved, his head would hit the couch cushion behind him, eyes closed and a sigh escaping his lips. His writing process was always changing, always giving him a challenge, but I think that's what he liked most about it. He'd been more frustrated, more aggravated, more troubled than I'd ever seen him while he was writing. His hands would instinctively go to his hair and grip tight, like if he'd rip out the strands he'd find the phrase or the idiom or the quote he was on a personal mission to find. It's that struggle that makes everything worthwhile in the end. Or so he tells me. 

And even though he'd storm throughout the apartment in a rage over how "stupidly fucking stupid" the block he was going through was, or how he had a deadline he'd have to meet or else "God would descend from the heavens and slap him into the next century" if he didn't get it out on time, he was happy. We'd have days where we'd lay on the couch side by side, him tapping at his keyboard on his lap while I watched TV. I'd look over at him and I'd go to comment on the characters in the show I was watching or how ridiculous the plot line for the episode was, but I'd stop myself because he looked so content and I didn't want to ruin it. He'd get this faraway look like he'd traveled to another world, completely engrossed in his material without even seeing it. His face would look so much calmer, his breathing would even out, and sometimes, if you caught it at just the right time, there were faint traces of a smile gently tugging at the corners of his mouth. On the rare occasion that he'd let me lay beside him while he wrote so I could read while he worked, I'd lay my head over his heart and listen to his heartbeat, how it slowed down to a steady rhythm and feel the gentle rise and fall of his torso. I think he let me do that only because the constant flutter never failed to lull me to sleep before I even had a chance to read his writing.

I looked a little absurd, curled in a ball on my side on the floor in our bedroom crying over a poem my boyfriend wrote me who even knows when, wondering what sparked the poem and when he wrote it. Quiet tears kept flowing and being absorbed into the carpet as I flipped the pages. In red ink there were corrections, circles, lines crossed out with replacement suggestions above. The margins were filled with advice on each paragraph and each line had praise or some sort of correction. Some of it looked like his handwriting, but the rest of it was messy and quickly written. It was hard to read, but from what I could decipher, there were quirky jokes and small doodles. There were seldom any pieces of sound advice, but from the small bits I found, they were insightful.

The poem was memorized, already ingrained in my brain, but my eyes kept going back to the cover page.  _Wings of Freedom,_ he decided to call the book. God, it sounded so familiar and I couldn't put my finger on it.  _Wings of Freedom. Wings of Freedom. Wings of Fre-_

It hit my like a ton of bricks. I knew where it came from. 

Our rings. The rings I bought us for the first Christmas we spent together. When I bought them, the jeweler said they were titled The Wings of Freedom and weren't that popular in sales. I remembered he lowered the price significantly because the store was closing and I bought them after being sized and everything. 

Levi named the sequel of a book he was intimidated to write based on the first Christmas present I ever gave him and dedicated it to me along with a poem in the opening page. It wasn't solidified or near complete, but the sentiment alone roused a new flow of tears. The idiot wasn't even there with me so I couldn't thank him. All I had was a stupid key and a cryptic letter; I had no idea what he thought I should do with them or why he put so much faith in me to find out because I was at such a loss. What the hell did I know? Was I supposed to magically come up with an answer and piece everything together to find him overnight? I was smart but not  _that_ smart. Obviously it would take some time, but did I even  _have_ time? Was I under a time stamp, predicted to have everything figured out in x amount of days? Would something happen if I took too long?

This wasn't a game. I understood the need for all the hidden messages or whatever the fuck he did to make sure I was the only one who could (somehow) discover what happened or where he went (is?), but it was ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous; I wasn't an investigator or some super sleuth genius. I was a kid waking up into a world completely different from how I'd left it without a clue where to go and how to do anything. And he trusted me with this big mission of finding him.

If that were him, if he had a bullet in his head and was put into a coma for two years I would've been with him the whole fucking time. I would've taken care of him and spoken to him and  _been there when he woke up_. I wouldn't give the front desk of the hospital some bullshit ambiguous note with a key that opened god only knows what. I would've waited no matter how long it took for him to wake up, I wouldn't just up and leave.

If he loved me so much why didn't he stay?

That might be just it, then. 

He didn't love me as much as he said he did, which begs the question: do I really want to go to the ends of the Earth searching with my heart and soul and everything I had for someone who didn't love me?

No. I didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know, nothing major is happening I kkkknnnnnnooOOOOoooOWW. 
> 
> I'm trying, I really am. I don't wanna make this story too short and I don't wanna rush it or make it unbelievable. I just wanna make sure its good and I'm havin a tiny bit of a rough time don't hurt me. Also this is like a rollercoaster okay I'm sorry it just seemed to fit. 
> 
> I guess I'll just go wherever it takes me? I'm sorry. 
> 
> And I'm gonna apologize again because I'm moving into my dorm at school soon, so I'm probably gonna take a little bit to upload chapter 4. Feedback is always appreciated and if you wanna come chat with me, find me on twitter (@corporalshortie), tumblr (bootyscoutinglegion), line (danosaurr), and snapchat (squishems).


	4. God Bless Armin Arlert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren's best friend is The Eren expert. Basically, Armin to the rescue. And some other stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tries to incorporate Armin in here a little bit because he's my child. AND he actually helped me fill a MAJOR PLOT HOLE that I was having HUGE trouble with and oh my GOD I'm so happy. I finally got my motivation back for writing now I have some solid direction to go in with this fic HELL FUCKIN YEAH FOR ARMIN ARLERT.
> 
> Also I should've asked this like a million and 6 years ago BUT would anyone like to be my beta reader for this fic? I've been lookin for one but I'm a shy weeb and I don't want to have to make someone read all of Miscalc and then this to be familiar with the story. If anyone's interested, come find me on tumblr/twitter! (bootyscoutinglegion/corporalshortie)

I'm a kid. Despite all my protests and reassuring arguments about how adult I am, I'm a kid. I puff up my chest and swear up and down that I can take care of myself, that I can do my own laundry and cook my own meals and fully believe that I will be 100% okay if it's just me. I've put out this aura of being fully confident in my ability to make sure I survive, that I'm born to thrive in whatever environment I'm thrust into, and after a while, it became true. I've learned to walk on my own, no crutches, one foot in front of the other, only looking behind me to help myself grow and keep moving forward. I look back when I have to, when I know there's a valuable lesson to be learned and a hidden truth in the grand scheme of things that I didn't notice until I dug further. I've started to pick up on the fact that at the end of the day, it's me and that's okay and I'll be fine. I'm doing fine and things are fine and I'll  _be_ fine.

But no matter how much I try to convince other people, regardless if it's effective, and no matter how many times I try to fool _myself_ , it's a lie.

Because I'm scared.

I'm scared of a lot of things. I'm scared of the future, of what it holds and what it doesn't tell me, not because it chooses not to, but because it can't. I'm scared that I will lose my way and wind up falling backwards instead of continuing forward. I'm scared that I will trip and land on my hands and knees, palms scraped and knees bloody with no knowledge on how to stand back up. I fear that I will get nowhere, with no degree, no talent, nothing spectacular about me aside from my unwavering determination. I'm afraid I have nothing to offer, no specific talent, no remarkable characteristic, no particular piece of myself that can benefit others along with myself and take me further. I'm terrified that I won't be able to connect with other people because they won't understand me and I won't take the time to understand them. It scares me to my  _core_ that I will get nowhere. That I will wind up with a shit job I hate, living by myself in a world that is far too cruel and unforgiving and I will keep my eyes glued to my past and forget the future. That I'll wind up convincing myself the future holds nothing and my past holds everything and I am fucking  _petrified_ that I will stray from my path.

Do I even have a path? Did I  _ever_ have a path? I thought I did. I thought Levi was the start of a new beginning, of a new door that I would enter that would lead me to so many more. I thought falling in love was roses and rainbows and fucking sunshine shining out my ass and I'd be nothing but a giddy, lovesick mess with a world of opportunities and no possibility of anything going astray. I believed wholeheartedly that nothing would get in my way, that nothing would stop me from whatever big dream I had. I was invincible.  _We_ were invincible. 

I was wrong. It was a foolish and naive way of thinking, but I was so at peace with how things were turning out, so  _trusting_  of the future that I failed to realize there's always a possibility everything could crumble. I fell in love and it was nice for a while until it all turned to shit. Until I had a bullet in my skull and a lifeless body confined to a hospital bed with a boyfriend who sat by my side for a while and then gave up.

He gave up.

And that is what I'm so scared to do, what I've _always_ been scared to do.

I've been scared that I will give up. That I will one day decide not pick up my feet, that I will not put one shoe in front of the next and keep moving. That I will stray from the road and wander into the woods, throwing caution to the wind and so past the point of caring about anything. That I will get lost in the trunks of mile high trees and breathe in nothing but the forest air and forget everything else, forget the road I was on and where I was headed. I've been scared that I will get lost. And I still am. 

I am scared that I will lose my power for decisions. I'll forfeit the power I was given to harbor at birth and surrender the responsibility of allowing it to grow over time and the last thing I'd ever want is to be powerless. It's all my choice though, isn't it? Don't  _I_ get to choose what I want to do? Don't  _I_ get a say in how I want  _my_ life to play out? Of course I do. It is my life, after all. I get to choose the simplest of things to the most complex. I can decide which cereal to have for breakfast or where I want to drive to. I can pick out a new pair of sneakers and take my time walking around the park. I can go back to school and declare a major. I can study so fucking hard that I graduate valedictorian, if I really set my mind to it. I can decide my present, and I can decide my future. But Jesus tap-dancing Christ does it scare the shit out of me. I have the power to do so many things, but the mere  _thought_ of putting it in action or making something of it, or even acknowledging that I have such a power, renders me a nervous, indecisive wreck.

I am a 23 year old boy working at a flower shop and living in my (supposed) boyfriend's old apartment.

I am a kid, and I am scared. It doesn't mean that I am weak or that being scared demeans my maturity, or anyone else's, I'm just at a standstill. I have no sense of direction, no one to lead me. I woke up misguided and not a clue where to go, how to get there, and who to bring along the way.

I think that's one of my major problems, though. I need someone to guide me. Without a route, without any order, I am a lost puppy trying to find a master. I need someone to tell me what to do, when to do it. I need someone to give me commands; otherwise, I feel as if I have no purpose. I hate that it's come to something like that, where I need someone _else_ to help me decide what to do as opposed to telling  _myself_. I've always hated when people bossed me around and gave me instructions, but it's something I desperately craved when I woke up. And I fucking hate it. What am I supposed to do with myself? How am I supposed to know how to continue, where to go from where I am now? Where are my answers and, more importantly, who has them?

There are none. No one has answers. No matter how many times you ask, no matter _who_ you ask, there are no answers. Everyone plays it by ear, plays the game of Life as they go along. And although it may seem like a lot of people have the answers and solve everything with the drop of a hat, without a worry, they don't. They're wandering like everyone else. They just have better intuition.

But there's something about lying on scratchy carpet crying over a piece of unfinished writing that makes me angry, and I guess it's with good reason.

If it's true that I can decide what I choose to do with myself, and if I lie to myself long enough that I start to believe I can take care of myself, what am I doing sobbing into hoarse carpeting and clinging to a very rough draft of writing? What the everloving  _fuck_ am I doing with myself, honestly?

It made me mad, furious, even, that I subjected myself to such a low level simply because  _I miss Levi._ Well, you know what? No more. Done. Bye. Not happening anymore. I've strayed from the road, but I didn't go too far into the woods that I lost sight of it completely. So I do the only thing I can think of: I turn my ass back around and keep walking, until my feet touch the asphalt and I see the expanse of road stretching before me, encouraging me to to keep going. And I do. 

I am a kid, I am scared, and I am angry.

I'm angry that I don't have a person to lean on. I am angry that the one fucking person, the  _one person_  who put me in that mess to begin with has left me with bullshit clues and a bogus as fuck scavenger hunt with him being the prize. I am livid and I have every right to be and may Zeus strike down anyone who says otherwise. 

With a hurried hand, I wiped the stray tears from my face and sat up. My head hurt from sitting up so fast, so I waited a second for my vision to stop swimming and my head to stop throbbing, which it took its time doing. I did a remarkable job at wrinkling the pages of Levi's writing and smudging some words with tear stains, but I didn't bother fretting over it. Instead, I stood up, brushed off stray threads of carpet from my pants, and threw the paper back in the draw, slamming it shut. The lamp on the nightstand shook and my attention turned back to Levi's glasses that rattled with it. I didn't allow my stomach to clench or my heart to skip beats. Before I had time to think it over, I grabbed his glasses, reopened the drawer, and threw them in before sliding it shut once more.

My body was moving. My hands were shaking and my knees were a little wobbly, but I was moving. I don't know what it is I planned to accomplish, pacing back and forth in the living room, but I felt the need to just  _move_. It hit me that phones actually did exist and I did actually have best friends and I decided to take advantage of both factors;l just one more-so than the other.

My feet raced to the coffee table where my phone sat and my hand stretched for it before I was remotely close to grabbing it. The screen lit up at my touch and in about .3 seconds flat, it started ringing. 

_Brrrrrrp. Brrrrrrrp. Brrrrr-_

"Hello?" His voice is groggy and heavy, weighed down by the effects of sleep.

"Arm, it's me."

He yawned. "Yeah figured. Caller ID is a beautiful thing."

"What are you doing right now?"

"Wha- Eren its 11pm. I'm bungee jumping, what do you think?"

"Can you come meet me? Or I'll come meet you? Can I just...can I just see you. Please."

I hear sheets rustle in the background, a thump, and a muffled curse before he answers, voice a little more alert. "Is everything okay, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." A lie. "Everything. I'm gonna go mad if I have to be here another second longer."

"Alright just," he pauses, probably trying to give himself a few seconds to become coherent and let his brain gears start functioning, "give me fifteen minutes, I'll be right over."

My eyes closed and I let out a huff of relief. "Thank you." Armin stumbles again and I hear "mother  _fucker_ " before he hangs up. 

There weren't many things that I needed to take with me; Armin was driving, so I didn't need my car keys, although I did need keys to the apartment, so I settled on taking my keys, wallet, and my phone. 

It took him five minutes less than he told me to get to Levi's apartment complex and by the time he'd arrived, I threw on a t-shirt and sneakers. He texted when he was out front and I was down the stairs, through the lobby and in the passenger seat of Jean's car in record time.

There are lots of things I regret, but some that I can think of off the top of my head are the following: not investing in a hair brush, my emo phase in high school, and not ranting about Armin to nearly everyone I meet.

Dear God do I love Armin Arlert. Armin is a savior in light blue fleece pajamas with microscopes on them with his hair looking like it was scrubbed in a million directions with the car wash brushes. Armin is the physical embodiment of all that is good in the world with a lazy, tired smile on his face and his eyes half lidded. Armin is my best friend who I'm pretty sure is Jesus in human form and there isn't a moment that goes by where I'm not grateful to call him my biffle. (Besties 4 lyfe xoxo).

"To the field?"

"To the field."

Armin shifts the car into gear, lowers the radio, and drives out of the parking lot to our field. 

When we were about twelve years old, Mikasa, Armin, and I decided to play a game of hide and seek. Mikasa was counting, which left me and Armin to find the best hiding spaces our little bodies could fit into. Armin, of course, being the adventurous thing he always was, decided it'd be more fun and a lot harder for Mikasa if we  _took a bus across town and hid somewhere other than the spaces she already knew about._ It always proved very, very difficult to refuse Armin anything; it's near impossible to sway his mind once his decision on anything is made, so trying was basically pointless. So refuse him I didn't, and went along with him I did. 

The two of us hiked on a bus across Shiganshina, away from our homes, our schools, our families, straight into the neighboring town. We got off at a bus stop in front of a candy store, which I wanted to go into, but Armin said no; what if Mikasa took the bus and got off at that spot? She'd see us straight through the window and the game would be over. He grabbed my hand and we walked away from the store and down the street. Buildings became less and less frequent the more we walked. As we made our way down the streets, the stores that were practically on top of one other became more spread out until there were none left and we wound up in a field. 

It was beautiful. Breathtaking, even. We'd wandered to a part of town not many people didn't go near, but that fact was unknown to our twelve year old selves, who were purely fascinated by such an expanse of open space, and quite frankly we wouldn't have cared anyway. It was like we discovered a gold mine in the form of grass and trees and _earth._ We weren't used to and had barely ever seen such a widely unoccupied area; Shinganshina was large for a village, but the streets were narrow, the cobblestone pavements winding and uneven and constantly littered with people. Houses were built so close together that alleyways were few and far between from the clutter of citizens combined with the number of buildings. It was too busy and too full of people for us to afford to have such excessively vacant space. Needless to say, we were in awe.

The field was green and dusted with the purples and blues and yellows of flowers, so alive with color save for the small patches of grass that had yellowed from the sun. There were a number of beech trees scattered about, and one to the left of where we stood was the one Armin wanted to sit and hide under. It was large, possessing a wide umbrella of branches and leaves that made the thick bark look small in comparison. It was completely surrounded by irises that turned toward the tree, like how children gather around and turn towards the teacher when they tell a story.

Armin was the first one to run towards the tree, the ends of his cardigan flying behind him as he went. His laugh was infectious, his sprinting giving my feet motivation to follow. I ran after him, hands outstretched and basking in the warm tingle of the sun's kiss on my skin.

We sat at the base of that tree side by side for what was almost two hours. We talked about everything that came to mind, every secret we kept and every truth we were scared to speak about outside of the field tumbling from our lips like we'd never speak of them again. We talked about the lands of ice and dunes of sand somewhere outside of our tiny village and what it would be like to see them. We talked about what it would be like to sink our feet in water of salt and squish our toes in sand the consistency of mud. We wondered what "glaciers" looked like and how it was scientifically impossible for such a huge mass of ice to exist, let alone flourish in the ocean. They were wonders and we were eager spectators waiting for the chance to partake in everything life could offer.

I'd never seen such fascination, such admiration in Armin's eyes as I did that day at the field. Going back home was inevitable and unwanted, but necessary and sort of required. And even though my mother and his grandfather nearly committed murder in the first degree when we returned, it became our place. We'd go back and visit it once in a blue moon during our years of middle and high school, once our guardians knew where exactly the field was and that it wasn't dangerous. Every time we returned, we sat in the same spot underneath the beech tree. We'd fall asleep against each other or against the trunk, with filtered patches of sunlight dancing on our cheeks and eliciting hidden freckles across Armin's nose and at the edges of his cheeks. Sometimes we'd sing, sometimes we'd (try to) do cartwheels and just be downright lunatics. Sometimes we didn't have to speak; a lot of the time, words weren't necessary for us.

We always knew each other so well, through and through, that mere looks and quirks of eyebrows or twitches of smiles on our lips would be communication enough. Armin was my platonic soul mate. In some other life, we could've made it as lovers and I knew it. Everyone thought we were dating in high school because we were so close, and sometimes I wish that we had. We had it golden, the two of us. But as fate turns out, we were not star crossed lovers, but fated best friends. And that was more than enough, more than I ever could've asked for. 

Visiting the field after a few years was almost like coming home after a stressful day at work and collapsing on your bed with a contented sigh and that feeling of  _I'm home._ The field wasn't home by any means - it was more of a haven. Our secrets and thoughts, our feelings and our memories, are etched into the grooves of the beech tree trunk and whispered through the soft hiss of leaves that have overheard our tales. It was returning to an old friend. It was catching up on years lost and events unspoken within the confines of our haven. 

Armin parked his car a block away in front of the last store that stood before the beginning of the field. He grabbed a blanket off the bottom of Jean's trunk and we walked in silence, standing close together to battle against the nighttime chill. No silence with us was ever uncomfortable, so with Armin's arm linked with mine, we continued our journey with our arms swinging.

There weren't as many irises as there had been when we were younger, but there were an abundance of them still fencing in the beech tree. We put down the blanket and took are spots, leaning against the trunk and sitting in quiet for a little while longer. I knew Armin was waiting for me to speak; he knew that no matter how much he tried getting me to talk, I wouldn't until I was ready to. And I loved that about him. I loved how he knew me as well as, if not better, than I knew myself. A lot of people badger me with questions when I don't feel like talking; they'll see I'm quiet or my face is sullen and just keep bombarding me with "Are you okay?" or "Come on talk to me, what's wrong?" But Armin's not like that. Armin knows what buttons not to push and when to give me some space. So he waited.

"I'm -" A lump in my throat cut me off, and I waited for it to settle down some before I could speak again. "I don't know what I'm doing, Armin." My throat stung and the back of my eyes burned with the threat of tears. "I don't know what I'm doing and it terrifies me. I don't know where I'm going and I don't - I don't want to get lost. I'm so scared of being lost."

Armin's fingers slid over the back of my hand to find the spaces between my own, interlacing our hands and giving a gentle squeeze of encouragement. "I have my job back and I have you guys back, but what am I supposed to do? I didn't finish school. Levi left. I don't even know where to begin looking for him. He left this stupid key and this stupid bullshit letter and had this blinding... _faith_ that I would find him but it doesn't make sense, Armin, it makes no fucking sense and I don't know what I'm doing."

Armin always let his brain mull over new information, always processed every detail before giving his opinion and prodding for further information. After a few minutes of quiet, he said, "There's probably more to the puzzle."

"Of course there's more to the puzzle. You of all people know that there's always more to everything and two pieces of evidence is not nearly enough to solve a case."  _Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum._  I heard my heartbeat in my ears, loud and probably protesting the fact that it was in my stomach. "It shouldn't be this...this scavenger hunt to find him. I know his past was filthy and I know there might be people looking for him after all that happened, but don't you think he'd tell me? It's  _me,_ Arm, not some rival from another family out to blow him up sky high. He loved me. He trusted me with what I thought was everything, so why is he doing this?" Crying in front of someone was always embarrassing for me and I hated it, god I hated it. But crying in front of Armin was far less uncomfortable. It was what it was, and so when tears took their time sliding down my cheeks, I didn't immediately wipe them away out of unease.  _  
_

"Why didn't he stay, Armin?" My voice was weak and, god, even to my _own_ ears it sounded beyond broken. Armin squeezed my hand again and with his free one, tangled his fingers in my hair to pull my head onto his shoulder. He let go and I stayed there, openly crying into his sleeve and gripping his hand like it was the last thing I'd ever do. "Am I not important enough?" Armin's thumb traced circles on my own, gently going back and forth to try and help soothe me. "He didn't love me, did he?"

"Don't say that." Armin's voice was still soft, but held a truth that shot down what I had said without a trace of doubt. "Don't say he didn't love you because we both know he did. So much. And of course you're important, Eren."

"If Jean were shot and went into a coma, same as me, would you leave him? Ever?"

"Not, but -"

"Then if Levi loved me as much as you love Jean, he wouldn't have left. He wouldn't have  _given up_ on me _."_

"He didn't -"

"He  _did,_ Armin." I lifted my head off his shoulder and turned to face him. His eyebrows were scrunched together, a habit he developed when he was trying to figure things out and string pieces together. 

"Eren," he whispered, "he loved you. He loves you still." Armin's free hand rose to my face, thumb gently wiping the stray tears from my cheeks. "He left because he didn't want to put you further in danger. Think about it - he was in the mob as a freaking hit man, of all things. And the best one of them. God knows how many people are after him, if they're not dead already." I closed my eyes and leaned into Armin's touch, feeling his forehead bump against mine. "He's not the type of person to do things without reason, Eren."

Remember when I said not everyone has answers, that we're all just wandering and that some people just have better intuition? Armin is one of those people, one hundred percent. It made sense, what he'd said about Levi. I knew it made sense and I knew it was logical, but it doesn't change the fact that he left me without so much as an address to find him at or a number to call him.

I sighed. "It doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I know. And it probably will for a little while, but as much as I can't forgive him for putting you in such danger in the first place, I know what he's doing has reason behind it." I scoffed and opened my eyes to look at him, watching Armin roll his. "What if someone ransacked his apartment, hmm? If Levi left you something in his apartment and someone trashed it, whoever did would've found whatever he left you. His cover would've been blown."

"But the apartment was left untouched when I first moved in."

"Doesn't mean they didn't clean up or weren't super stealthy. You never know what people in the mafia are capable of."

He had a point.

He always has a point.

Goddamnit, Armin.

I sighed and dropped my head back to Armin's shoulder, feeling him lean on top of me. "I hate you."

"You do not. Quite the opposite, last time I checked." His laugh was so lighthearted I couldn't help but smile. 

We sat in silence for a little while, with me soaking in Armin's words and Armin giving me time to. His thumb was still idly creating invisible swirls across my thumb, our hands still clasped together. It was nice; I'd been craving something like this since I woke up and receiving it from anyone other than Armin (or Mikasa) would've felt horrible. 

I broke our moment of peace with, "What kind of word is stealthy, anyway? It just feels wrong when you say it. Stehl-thee. Sthththeltheeely. Sthuper sthelthy. Who created this word, I demand to know, it's ridiculous."

When Armin wants to laugh, he  _laughs._ Like, full blown belly-aching, louder-than-hookers-having-sex laughter. His voice was booming, bouncing off the trunks of the other trees, resonating throughout the entire field. Astronauts in space could hear Armin's laugh, and I'm sure it'd make them smile. Honestly, you can't listen to Armin laughing and at  _least_ not crack a grin; it's so, so very contagious.

His hand left mine as he gripped his stomach, falling over onto his side and completely wrecked with laughing. "I'm, so - oh my god, E-Eren." My smile grew wider and wider the longer he laughed, and by the time it was dying down, there were tears in his eyes and my cheeks hurt.

"Really? Sthsththeltheeely? Jesus Christ." 

I shrugged and ignored the ache in my cheeks in favor of continued beaming. It was the first time I'd genuinely smiled in weeks, like hell was I stopping. "I'm telling you, that word is preposterous. Totally ridiculous. It should be banned from the dictionary."

"But imagine people with a lisp saying it."

"Sthththelthehly. Like that?" And the laughter began again, Armin's laugh rising to such a volume that birds in the tree across the field made the branches shake as the flock flew away. 

"Armin you're scaring the birds, shut up! Gotta be sthththteltheeely with your laugh!"

"Eren that doesn't make any  _s-sense!"_

We carried on and on, mostly because Armin's voice makes me feel better like no amount of medicine could ever hope to. Numerous times, I kissed his cheek in gratitude, and numerous times after, he did the same.

 

* * *

 

Armin is practical in his advice while Mikasa is more biased. It's not to say her words of wisdom aren't good or useless, they just hold more emotion to them. Which isn't  _always_  a bad thing; Armin just takes everything into consideration and is better at analyzing every angle.

We drove back to the apartment complex, with the radio blaring  _Highway to Hell_ and the windows rolled down so we could scream outside them. We turned a few heads of passerby's, but paid them no attention and proceeded to sound like drunken bastards. 

Parking the car right in front of the building's door, Armin turned the car off and stared at the steering wheel, lost in thought for a brief second.

Twiddling my thumbs, I said in a quieter voice than I intended, "I'm really sorry for dragging you out so late, I promise next time if I need you I'll -"

Armin's hand was on my mouth before I could continue and when I looked over at him, he had the softest expression I'd ever seen him wear. "Don't start. How many times have I told you you can always call me when you need me, no matter what?"

Back and forth I looked at his eyes, trying to find some falsity in them and only finding support and love. I licked his palm while staring him straight in the face and laughed as he jerked his hand back and aggressively wiped it on my shirt. "Aw, Eren, come on! Really?!" I hit my head on the door frame in the midst of laughing, which received a barking "Hah!" from Armin.

It took a few seconds, but we calmed down. I leaned over the divider to hug Armin as best I could and buried my face in the crook of his neck as soon as his arms found my shoulders. "Thank you, Arm. I mean it. I was going crazy with that stupid draft up there. I'm surprised I didn't start breaking shit."

"You've grown out of your high school rage fits, congratulations." He squeezed tighter before he pulled back, a look of confusion on his face. "Stupid draft?"

"Oh, I found like, twenty pages of a first draft to Levi's second novel in his nightstand. It was covered in red markings and corrections and stuff but I kind of made it all disheveled."

Armin was quiet for longer than I wanted him to be. After his brows were furrowed and his mouth was set in a fine line for what felt like sixty years, the concentrated look dissipated from his features and was replaced with a look that would resemble how someone would react after being slapped in the face with a fish. "Holy shit," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Holy shit, that's it! Eren that's it! Why didn't you tell me this sooner you stupid doof!" Armin's hands were flying, one to the steering wheel and one to the gear shift, changing the car from park to drive and screeching Jean's poor, poor car into the nearest parking spot. Once the car was (barely) shut off and parked, Armin sprinted out of the car and was at the passenger side door before I was even out. My wrist did not belong to me anymore, for he had taken a hold of it with an iron grip and pulled me from the car across the parking lot to the lobby in record time.

"Armin, wait! What's going on, fuck that hurts!" My pleas to be released fell on deaf ears as Armin proceeded to, quite literally, drag me through the halls and up the stairs to Levi's apartment, completely disregarding the fully functioning elevator. Only then did he let me go. We were panting, nearly sweaty messes from dashing up four flights of stairs. "Care to explain why you just ripped my arm out of my socket and broke my wrist?"

"The draft - where is it?"

"Levi's writing?" 

"Yes, the rough draft to his next novel, those twenty pages. Where is it?"

"Inside in the night table, why?"

Armin's fingers dug into the front pocket of my jeans and fished out the keys to the apartment, opening the door in swift movements and storming inside. I called after him while locking the door behind me and jogged to the bedroom to find Armin on his knees in front of my end table, opening the drawer. "Not that one, Levi's." He didn't say a word as he rolled across the bed and landed in front of Levi's night stand, pulling at the drawer with much more force than necessary and pulling out the draft.

Page after page was flipped through as Armin read every line and every mark. He was much too quiet, and when I went to ask a question, he'd shake his head as if to say "not now". So I waited until he was done, doing whatever it is that...Armin does. 

When he found whatever it was he was looking for, Armin left the bedroom without so much as a word and headed to the kitchen. "You guys keep pens in here right? And like a notepad, or something?"

"Yeah, in the drawer to your right." He silently pulled out a pad and pen, scribbling down a whole bunch of nonsense.

"This right here is a filler, that's irrelevant, that might be useful. This -"

I slammed my hand down, covering the pad and causing Armin to look at me for the first time since we were seated in the car. "Armin. You're doing that spacey thing again. Get out of the zone and tell me what's going on."

Armin stared at me and sighed. "What did I tell you back in the field, about him not giving up on you?"

I thought back to under the beech tree. "That he loved me and he had a good reason for leaving. Most likely."

"Right. And what did I say about the possibility of people going through Levi's place to see if he left anything behind that would help them find him wherever he is now?"

"That it could've happened and they were just super sththtelthee." That earned me a smile, but Armin quickly composed himself. 

"Right. But here's what I'm thinking." He pushed my hand off the pad he was writing on and pointed to something he wrote down. Bringing the draft next to the pad, Armin flipped to the page corresponding to the notes he wrote down. "Look at this - page 11 paragraph 3. What does it say?"

I followed his finger and skimmed through the top page to read where his finger pointed to. The paragraph started:

_The slabs of concrete laid in the ground were choppy, unevenly placed and mismatching in stone. The houses of brick he knew so well, that he grew up playing next to, that were his personal landmark to tell him he was almost home, were fading in color and slanting from asymmetrical land. An alleyway that began from the center of town, that started off wide and gradually shrunk in width, crept along the sides of the town homes; it kept going, stretching all the way to the boy's home, and oh how it narrows._

Armin's finger was right underneath the words "it narrows" and, after actually taking the time to examine the markings, I noticed those two words were in red ink. They were written in red, underlined, circled - the only words that popped on the page. I grabbed the manuscript from Armin and flicked through the pages. One by one my eyes skittered across the words, catching the markings and words of advice in the margins, but page 11 was the only page that had only  _one_  correction - the others had multitudes of them.

I looked up at Armin, a million questions racing through my head, when he voiced what my heart was waiting for him to say, what it  _knew_ he would say.

"Eren, this is it. This is the third clue."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated a lot sooner than expected so...YEAH. 
> 
> UHM. This chapter has a lot of me in it. A lot. Like especially in the beginning with Eren and when he's talking to Arm at the beech tree. I got emotional whoops.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, and if you wanna come find me, feel free to do so munchkins.


	5. It's (Probably) Not What You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My side. Well, as much of it as I can say. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [char](http://tokidoki.co.vu/) for helping me out to a very great extent, I couldn't do a lot without her !!
> 
> Also this chapter is very short its only somethin like 2k and I used google translate.

[ Levi ]

_"Sir I'm sorry, there isn't anything we can do on our end at this point."_

_"You're medical professionals, you've dedicated your_ life _to this. Isn't there_ something _you can do?"_

_"The decision rests in the hands of his family - if they choose to pull it, then we'll pull it. If they want to wait, we'll wait a little bit longer."_

_"His family?_ I'm _his family. Me. He's my best friend, my - I am his family. Please, let me just -"_

_"It's up to him now. If he wakes up, he has to do it on his own."_

_"There_ is _no if!_ _"  My hand slammed against the wall nearest to me, fingers clenched in a fist and itching to hit hit hit. "He_ will _wake up. We just need to give him a push, we need -"_

_"Sir, I'm sorry. I wish there was more we can do, but there isn't." He turned to leave, halfway out the door, one hand gripping his paper charts and the other on the door handle. "For what it's worth, he seems to be strong. I hope he pulls through." The door clicked shut behind him and I was left alone with his empty words and no miracle._

_I always enjoyed being alone. Being in silence was comforting because I could take a minute to gather my thoughts and think; it gave me peace of mind and the chance to slow down and recollect. I loved not having to talk to anyone because the effort I'd put into it would be too great and I really couldn't be bothered. It required too much energy to engage in conversations and I'd much rather...not._

_But the silence in the room - the incessant beeping of the monitors, his regulated breathing, all the tubes and wires whirring - it was the worst form of quiet. He was right there,_ right _there, but I couldn't speak to him. I could reach out and touch him, grab his hand and intertwine our fingers. I could lay beside him on the stiff mattress and drape the thin sheets over ourselves. I could do a lot of things with him, but he wasn't here. He was somewhere else, somewhere I couldn't follow, and it hurt, it really did. I always wanted to be with him, be where he was and see the things he saw. I wanted to experience everything with him, and this time I couldn't. This time, he was taken from me and I couldn't be with him and it hurt more than swallowing glass._

_I wasn't left with many options, but I stayed and I waited._

_I wouldn't leave._

_I'd never leave._

 

* * *

 

I left.

I ran like the coward I was and I left.

Can I defend myself? Probably not. Will I be given the option of speaking my piece? I doubt it.

What is there for me to say at this point.

What words could I use that would even begin to remotely get across why I did what I did? How can I convince Eren, Eren's best friends, anyone; how can I explain that what I did was necessary? That I had no choice and I stayed as long as I could? That I tried my very, very best to make sure everything was taken care of, that I gave Eren all that I could at the time?

I probably can't. I probably won't even be given the  _chance_ to get a word in before I get yelled at, before I'm shot down and made to be the bad guy at the first sign of interaction. I probably deserve it. It's hopeless. I can't redeem myself. I can't offer my side of the story because I'm just as sure about it as Noah was sure the world was going to shit. I don't have solid proof, but the proof is in my heart, and it's telling me everything has been to shot to shit. _  
_

Does it mean I won't try? No, I will. I'll do my best, but what good is my best if it's not even given an opportunity to present itself?

Only time will tell, I suppose.

I'm not left with much to do. I'm surrounded by compassionate people in a beautiful city with history at my finger tips but no one to share it with. I'm in a place I shouldn't be without the person I love and I don't want to be here. I don't I don't I don't I - (Breathe).

This is every day life now. 

I just want to get a word in. I want to go back and I want to  _explain_ , god I want to explain more than anything. Whether it's a good reason or not, I need to let him know, let  _everyone_ know why I'm not there with him. Every day it eats at me, gnawing at my insides until I'm sure there must be nothing left to consume. I'm trying to keep it together, not for myself, but for Eren. All I've ever done was for him, everything was because he is my whole world and I'd go to the ends of the earth if it meant making things okay. Or, well, trying to. 

I love him.

I love him more than anything I've ever loved.

And it's because I love him that I left him. I couldn't take the risk, couldn't afford for him to be the object of their interest, of  _his_ interest. I would protect him no matter what, and if that meant leaving, if that meant that I would have to be secretive and let only him be the one to find me, then so be it. Whatever it took, I was willing to accept.

I don't know if he's awake. I don't even know if he made it out of whatever world he was involuntarily sucked into. Does Mikasa visit him every day? Does Armin read to him his favorite stories? Can he hear them? Does he ever have tulips on his dresser, waiting to see him open his eyes and remind him he'll never go unloved?

With everything I am, I hope so. I hope Mikasa holds his hand and talks to him about her day. I hope she fills him in on her job and her every day happenings and doesn't leave him out of the loop. I hope Armin reads him his favorite stories and gives him a haircut when his hair gets too long and shaggy. I hope they keep him company and I hope they don't leave him alone for too long.

I miss him. With ever fiber of my being, I miss him.

 

* * *

 

I've gotten used to the quiet bustle of the streets here; it's not overwhelmingly crowded and it's not too touristy. If you see one or two unfamiliar faces it's not unpleasant, but kind of refreshing. I was like them the first time I came here, so seeing a couple take a picture here and there or watching them eat the cuisine and melt at how great it is is nice. Kinda reminds me of what it's like to fall in love with simple things, no matter if you're visiting or staying for good.

The buzz of the city, or in this part of it, is welcoming. Street markets put up their tents every morning, sellers putting the fresh and local grown vegetables, fruits, and baked goods on tables for purchase. Vendors display homemade jewelry, jams, blankets, hats - anything their quick hands can make. The cobblestone sidewalks and steep hills lead to glistening water, shops on top of one another that look like they came straight from a movie. It's hard to believe it's not in cinemas and actually on the streets. There's always something to do though, always a new place to visit and new things to see. You sort of get this authentic feel whenever you're walking around, like the locals and the town itself stayed true to it's roots. Commercialization and tourism didn't change it, just modified to fit the growing needs of it's people. It takes pride in it's history and embraces their culture, sharing it with natives and visitors peculiar enough to want to know more. 

It took a while to get used to, but the locals are way, way friendly. The people I've met at the markets and stores always go the extra mile to help out, which I never understood, even now, because they don't know me, they have no reason to. I've learned that they treat everyone as if they're a best friend, almost like a relative. It's a bit baffling and not something you get used to, but once you're around it enough it becomes familiar; you learn to accept it for what it is. I learned that that's in their nature, they're just naturally kindhearted. It's rather pleasant, actually, once you get used to it. A new way of living completely opposite from what I've always known.

When I can take a minute to calm myself down, I write, and even when I'm feeling my worst, which is quite often. I write poems about the water, the boats that take tourists around and show them both sides of the river. I write stories of people I've never met but see walking the streets and imagine what their lives must be like, who they're married to, if they have children and what their job is. I thought I'd get tired of writing, but it was the only thing barely keeping me sane. When the soliloquies I formulated weren't drawing out this seething ocean I've been drowning in, the writing I produced was lighthearted and was near unrecognizable. How I could be so despondent and pessimistic but produce something almost _happy_ is nothing short of inconceivable.

Of course there are things that I've written that won't ever see the light of day, things dark and tormenting that display the inner recesses of my heart onto paper. Lines that wouldn't make much sense to anyone other than me, lines that are disturbing and words that are far worse than depressing - these could be found in margins and above stray sentences. These were the guilt-ridden and heart wrenchingly broken bits of myself that would never heal. The black book I keep with me has some of the darkest words I never care to revisit, but also some from conversations I overhear and pieces of people I find interesting and write down. This book is an organized mess, but it keeps my hands busy.

I've kept my head down as much as possible, which is fairly easy in a new place where no one knows me and I know no one in return. It does get...lonely, but it's not something new to me, so I deal with it. 

What I'd never dealt with before were nightmares, and those came almost every single night.

It was the same scene, over, and over, and over again. Nearly every night I saw the look in Eren's eyes, the last look he gave me. I saw the plea to save him, I saw him crying out for me, so _desperate_ to live and so afraid, he was _so afraid_. His eyebrows were raised and scrunched in the middle, his mouth was open with a scream of my name on his lips and I will never forget his eyes, so beautiful and so frightened. But the beautiful, tropical sea blue-green of his eyes were replaced with red. Red so deep and so vibrant that it was blinding. Everywhere, the red was  _everywhere_. Petra's hands, the cement floor of the warehouse, speckles of blood getting on Erwin's entirely white suit. It felt like everything in the room, every person in that room was touched by Eren's blood and every night I saw it coat my vision. Every night I felt his slack body in my arms and the temperature quickly draining from his skin. Every goddamn night I'd _see_ Erwin's smile and _hear_ the echoed clicking of Petra's heels walking away from us and it became hard to differentiate between my screaming in my dreams and my screaming that woke me up. _  
_

I'm surrounded by so much history and I didn't expect that, coming here. I didn't expect to spend high tea in one of the most famous landmarks in the entire country, nor did I even think of the amount of cultural praise to be so openly celebrated on a near daily basis. I'd catch myself smiling every once in a while, but it was hard and every time I did, I remembered Eren was lying in a hospital bed and quickly wiped it away, as if it were never there. It wasn't meant to be there. He's not meant to be there.

I have no right,  _no_ right to be enjoying where I was. I have  _no_ right to draw inspiration from my surroundings or the people I've met or the scenery I'm surrounded by. I have  _no fucking right_ to even be alive after all I've done and yet here I am, enjoying the best tea in all of this province and staring at the water during a gorgeous day.

I want to chuck the fucking teacup into the river.

The only thing I deserve is a fucking beating.

Pen in my hand, cap in my mouth and eyes nearly closed, I opened my black book and scribbled something in it before returning back to my room for the rest of the night. I didn't eat dinner and I didn't fall asleep until 3am. 

As per usual, I woke up screaming and still seeing Eren's blood on my hands.

 

* * *

 

 

_Rouge comme les tulipes._

_Ma punition, Je devine._

_Je suis tellement désolé._

_Je suis tellement désolé._

_Je suis tellement désolé, Eren._

 

 

_Qu'ai-je fait_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of people have asked if I planned to finish this fic or if I was abandoning it. I pinky swear I will finish this, I have no plans to let this fic hang in the wind without any resolution. I'm just super busy with school and work and inspiration is hard to come by and when it does, I don't have time to write it out. I promise to continue, it just might take a little while :

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was p short just because I haven't had a lot of time to write and because I wanna get this out so you guys know it's here, it's happening, we're in motion. I promise as we get the ball rolling, the chapters will be longer, just like in miscalc.
> 
> Don't even ask me when chapter 2 is coming because I literally have no idea. Working full time has put a for serious dent in my writing plans. How dare they. 
> 
> (( Thanks for reading, everyone! <3 Let me know how you like it so far ))


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